


Oh Simple Thing

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, M/M, Overstimulation, Paddling, Painplay, Punishment, Restraints, Spanking, Subspace, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt (a dominant) is a lonely, thirty year old choir director at McKinley High.  Blaine (a submissive) is a seventeen year old transfer student who hasn't had the best experience of life so far.   Kurt is determined to mentor Blaine, and the last thing he expects is to fall for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Simple Thing

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my take on the D/S AU trope. I would say that the kink is not heavy at all, so don't worry about being freaked out if kink is not your thing. Blaine is seventeen when the fic starts but eighteen before anything happens between them. And yes, Kurt is his teacher. So if that bothers you, you have been warned.
> 
> Also, Blaine's parents are assholes. Warnings for abuse via neglect/indifference/unloving parental behavior.

Kurt Hummel is going to be late for work because his car hates him. It's the only explanation; last week it had been a snapped fan belt, this Monday a flat tire and now, on the holiest of holy Fridays, his alternator is shot.

"I am suing you for malpractice," he says to his mechanic. "My car gets worse every time I bring it to you for tender loving care."

"Don't start with me, young man." 

"Dad, I'm late."

"It's time to let this car go, kid. You've had it since high school. It's almost fifteen years old."

"She has a name. She has a _soul_. Why don't you understand our bond?"

"'She' is a hunk of junk," Burt Hummel replies, working a dirty rag over his hands. "Give your old man a break and buy something newer. The thought of you driving this thing through another winter makes me twitch outta my skin."

He's only half-joking, which is what makes Kurt relent. "I'll look into it this weekend, okay? Can I take the Chevy to work today?"

"Sure. I'll put a few gallons in it, but you'll have to top it off on your way home."

"Thanks," Kurt replies, smiling. 

"Get going, then." 

He kisses his Dad's cheek, unwilling to go in for a hug with all that grease, and shuffles out of the garage.

When he arrives at his second period class he thanks the teacher who'd covered for him. "Sorry, Helen, car trouble," he says. “I appreciate it.”

"Again? Good lord, Kurt, buy something—"

"—newer, yes, I know. I got lectured this morning already. You have no idea how annoying it is to have your mechanic be your dad. I can never just lay into him the way I really want to." He's joking, of course, and Helen smiles and waves a hand dismissively.

"Emma was looking for you. She said to drop by when you have a minute."

"Oh, I'm not in trouble, am I?" He scrunches up his face. That, too, is a bit of a joke; Emma has been his best friend since he graduated from McKinley.

Helen just smirks at him, shaking her head. "As if butter wouldn't melt."

When she’s gone, Kurt turns to face the front of the room. His class stops whispering as soon as his eyes are on them, and he smiles with approval. "Alright, guys. Let's warm up."

 

*

 

Kurt snags a carrot from Emma's lunch box and sits down across from her. "Hey, toots."

"Let me guess." Her ginger eyebrows rise.

"You guessed it. Good ol' Barbara. I think the end is nigh."

"Kurt," Emma whispers, scandalized.

"I know, I _know_." He nibbles on his turkey and vegetable wrap. "What did you need to see me about?"

"Actually, come by my office during your free period? It's about a transfer student and I can't discuss it here."

Several hours later he taps on the glass beside her office door. She stops dusting, and by the time he's sitting opposite her she has her gloves off, too.

"Bad day?" he asks lightly. Her OCD is a constant struggle, but since she’d married Carl it's been better. Having a dominant in her daily life had made the symptoms more manageable. He’s very good for her.

"Oh," she replies, overwhelmed. "Maybe. Let's, um—"

He sometimes forgets that she's so easily knocked off balance. He puts a hand over hers and squeezes; she goes stock-still and then exhales, calmer.

"Thank you," she says primly, and then collects herself enough to pass a folder over to him without shaking. "His name is Blaine Anderson. Seventeen years old—he was left back sophomore year. He's a unique case. Bright, lots of energy, no problems with drinking or drugs or gangs. But he's had a lot of pre-labeling problems, up and down, mixed signals, that sort of thing. He has an anxiety disorder. His parents had him move into a private school for his second attempt at sophomore year. He showed some improvement but wasn't really stable and then there was an altercation with another student at Dalton Academy, and—well, he shut down even harder. His parents want him to try public school again for his junior year, here this time, to see if it might help him."

Kurt reads the file while Emma talks. It's a sad story, one that he is all too familiar with.

It's only been ten years or so since the government had instituted the official program that labeled young adults as either dominants or submissives. It had been controversial at the time and for good reason; the long-reaching consequences of defining people so rigidly are still largely undefined, in Kurt's opinion. 

But it's better than having them run around without any guidance at all, he supposes. Before labeling it had been total bedlam, no orientation education classes, no preparation for patching or branding, and no knowledge of what the heck to do if you were involved with someone of the same label. Both school and domestic violence had been through the roof.

The orientation education class could definitely use some work, but it was there and at the very least the kids had someone to talk to. Things typically only got confusing during senior year, when the early bloomers started patching—a rough, red circular patch of irritated skin would rise on their left shoulder with a black mark at the center (an x for a submissive and a circle for a dominant) and they would go into a kind of a sexual/physically stressed fit until the outline around the mark was branded. In certain cases patching without intervention can be dangerous for the body; there had been a few fatalities about twelve years ago that had forced the labeling program to come to the forefront of American politics.

Thankfully patching most commonly occurs between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one, and so the staff at McKinley only ever had to handle so much of it. It was the university professors that Kurt felt really badly for. He couldn't imagine how he’d handle the stress of having patching young adults around him day in and day out. His own had been unpleasant enough, thank you very much.

"He's not showing any definitive signs either way?" he asks idly, turning pages.

"He goes through phases, according to his parents. Sometimes he's aggressive, jumps to take the leader role and can’t be budged, and then other times you can't get him to come out of his room without a command. He’s never been _violent_ , but he’s far from stable.”

The picture in Blaine's file shows a slick-haired private school uniformed boy, handsome and composed, dark hair and clear brown eyes. 

"So." Kurt takes a breath, looking up at Emma. "What do you need me to do for you?"

"I'd like to place him in your homeroom. I'd also like to sign him up for your fifth period choir class."

Kurt blinks. "Does he want to sing?"

"He was in the show choir at Dalton Academy and by all accounts he is a very talented young man."

"No; I mean, does he want this? Is it voluntary?"

"He was reluctant, but agreed to try."

"If he's a sub, I don't want anyone pushing him too hard to do things that make him uncomfortable. You know what that can do. There’s a time and a place to push them but this isn’t it; he's too young." Emma’s life had been one long episode of pushing; Kurt knows that she will understand the sentiment.

"Absolutely. If he doesn't like it I'll let him swap the class for a study period or another elective, no questions asked." She leans across the table, smiling. "You'll be good for him, Kurt. You're a dom but you aren't showy about it, and most importantly you don't let it define you as a teacher. I think he'll be able to relate to you without being intimidated by you."

"No pressure, then?" Kurt asks, and she laughs. 

Being a role model for teenagers while trying to teach them things is hard enough without labeling in the mix; add that and it can get volatile. But it's what he was born to do and he loves his job.

 

*

 

Kurt makes sure to be early on Monday. He also dresses carefully, going for a sleek but understated look. He isn't trying to impress his new student on a personal level, but he understands all too well the value of a good first impression.

He is pleasantly surprised when Blaine is the first student to arrive. He keeps his eyes on the paper he'd been scribbling notes on and waits for Blaine to cross the threshold of the room before he looks up.

He feels something like a lens flare flash behind his eyes when he sees Blaine for the first time. He has an uncanny sense of déjà vu. Something about Blaine instantly reminds him of himself at that age.

Blaine drops his eyes the moment Kurt looks at him, and Kurt knows instantly and without question that this boy is a sub.

"Blaine Anderson?" he asks.

Blaine twitches and stares at the ground in what seems like surprise. Kurt's voice often surprises people, so he takes this in stride. "Yes, sir. Mr. Hummel?"

"That's right. Have a seat."

Blaine is dressed to be invisible, which Kurt often sees teaching high school students, sub or otherwise; jeans that just fit, a t-shirt that is a little too baggy and has absolutely no markings on it, a book bag that looks like his mother had bought it for him and he hadn't even taken a second glance at it. 

He wonders how hard it was for Blaine to go from the comforting repetition and anonymity of a uniform to having to choose which clothes to wear.

"Blaine? Can we talk?" It's always best to initiate engagement. To leave a sub hanging in silence, wondering, is the most common and unforgivable mistake that a dom can make. When Blaine looks up at him, huge eyes and gel-slicked hair, he smiles. "Thank you. Have you had the chance to talk with Mrs. Howell about your schedule?"

"Yes, sir, she gave me a copy." He almost maintains eye contact, there, and that's a good sign. It's easy to think of him as cute (he's like a puppy sitting there with those giant brown eyes), but Kurt's seen unstable subs lash out when cornered or agitated; it happens a lot pre-labeling, when regular teenage hormones are trying to make themselves known alongside pre-orientation hormones.

"My choir class is optional, Blaine. I want you to understand that. If you feel uncomfortable you can leave at any time. You don't even need to ask for permission."

Blaine’s relaxation is barely perceptible, but Kurt is looking for it, after all. "Thank you, Mr. Hummel."

At lunch, Emma asks him how it went, and he smiles and shrugs. "He seemed a little sad. I think he's been mishandled in the past.”

She sips at her drink. "I spoke to Helen and she said he was quiet but well-behaved in English. Answered when called on, had done the reading."

"That's good," Kurt replies.

 

*

 

Kurt's choir class contains many members of the group that composes his competing show choir, but they are two different entities entirely. The choir class is mostly rehearsal for the show choir kids and an elective for the others. All in all they have a lot of fun and it's pretty relaxed, if he does say so himself.

He introduces Blaine as a transfer student but doesn't ask him to say anything. He carefully watches for the reactions of several interested females in the room. Many of them are showing dom tendencies already and he wants to be sure that they don't try to tease Blaine. If he himself is already positive beyond the shadow of a doubt about Blaine's orientation, he knows that they will at least have suspicions.

After that they do some vocal warm-ups and sing a few group numbers that the choir is going to perform at a school assembly next month. It's all fairly low-key. 

At the end of class, he stops Blaine and asks him if he’d enjoyed the lesson.

"It was nice," Blaine answers, smiling shyly. "Um, I'm—I'm pretty comfortable with group singing. Your arrangement of A Hard Day's Night was really special." His eyes are very, very wide and soft.

Kurt feels a flush creep up the back of his neck and he clears his throat. Most kids just don’t appreciate the classics anymore. "Thank you, Blaine. You'd better get to your next class."

After he's gone, Kurt sits down at the piano and stares off into space, only moving when the arrival of his next class snaps him back to attention.

 

*

Blaine is closed up like a clam, physically speaking. He hunches, slouches, ducks his head and curls his arms around his body as if at any moment he expects to be struck. It's not necessarily a sign of actual physical abuse; as a sub, he most likely just feels the urge to be small and unseen. He wouldn't need to feel that way if he had someone to teach him that his anxiety is actually a part of his genetics, that it's okay and that he is okay and that he can walk tall and proud, that he's allowed to be confident. 

Kurt hates leaving this up to the orientation education teacher to show the kids because the woman is an idiot and the program isn’t designed any better. He tells himself that it's for this reason and this reason alone that he holds Blaine back after choir one day. They'd performed their concert just a week ago and it had gone off nicely, but he had noticed Blaine's lack of knowledge of basic vocal training.

"I'm about to make you an offer that you can't refuse," he says.

Blaine smiles and loosens up just a fraction. "Really?"

"I’ve noticed during practice and the concert last week that you're doing really well. You harmonize beautifully and your timing is great. You seem comfortable performing alone as well as with the group. I like that. But there is some room for improvement. Would you like to stay after on Tuesdays for vocal coaching? With me. Of course."

Blaine's eyebrows go flat, and then arch back up into their adorably triangular shape. His mouth softens, spreading into a smile that is probably the first genuine show of happiness that Kurt has ever seen on his face. "I'd love that," he breathes, eyes sparkling. "After last period?"

"I have a permission slip that your parents need to sign," Kurt adds, sliding it across the piano. "But as long as they are okay with it, yep. Right after last period."

"Thank you, Mr. Hummel!"

 

*

 

Blaine shows up to their first one on one lesson in a simple polo shirt and khakis. His hair is just a little less gelled and he's wearing glasses, which he never has before. He seems relaxed.

"Hey, there you are." Kurt is wearing jeans and a shirt with a black vest, one of his trademark brooches just over his left vest pocket. It's Friday, so he feels like loosening it up a little.

"God, I love that," Blaine says, motioning to the horse brooch.

"Oh," Kurt replies. "Well. Someone has to make a fashion statement around here, huh?" He motions. "Sit?" Blaine sits. "Blaine, you've got a really impressive, raw talent. You certainly know how to move and sing, especially with others. But your posture and breathing could use some work, and I think it will make a huge difference in your ability to project and hold notes longer and better if we were to spend some time on that." It's easy once he starts teaching; he knows how to do this, and Blaine is obviously enthralled, staring at him like he hangs the moon. "Stand up for me?"

Blaine stands, almost before Kurt finishes his sentence. Kurt loses his breath for just a second before continuing.

"Proper singing posture starts with a few simple changes to the way you normally stand. Your chin should be parallel to the floor." Blaine attempts that, and Kurt reaches out to gently fix the angle. Blaine's pupils are really very, very large, abnormally so, and his cheek is just a little stubbly. "Shoulders back and down, chest high, but don't push it. You don't want to strain to hold the position." Kurt circles him. "Abdomen flat and firm, but you want to be able to expand." He lets the fingertips of his left hand touch Blaine's belly. "Hands relaxed and still at your sides. Knees loose, don't lock them. Feet slightly apart, one just a tiny bit in front of the other. And lean—there you go—just let the weight of your body list forward a little."

After that, they do some vocal warm ups, then some runs, and then a song that they've been practicing in class.

Kurt lets Blaine sing it without guiding him, and then asks him to correct his posture and try again, and it sounds so much better. The moment that Blaine realizes that it works, that it's possible to _improve_ , he can't stop grinning and finally laughing, and he playfully twists the last few lyrics of the song and makes Kurt crack up at the piano.

"That was amazing," he says on his way out, beaming.

Blaine's excitement is infectious. Kurt feels a warm glow of pride that his teaching ability has allowed him to give something to this student that no one else ever has before. "Next time we'll do some new exercises and talk about breath control.”

 

*

 

Kurt makes a point of talking to all of Blaine's teachers to make sure that he's responding consistently in all of his classes and not just choir. 

He also schedules a phone conference with Blaine's parents at Emma's request. He isn't pleased to discover the somewhat neutral attitude that Blaine's parents have about their son. They seem to think that labeling and maturity will fix all of Blaine's problems and that their only job is to feed, clothe, and house him. Kurt tries to stress to them the importance of pre-labeling behavior monitoring. There are often obvious signs that are missed because people are just waiting around for patching to define who they are. It doesn't quite work that way.

He recalls his own patching with embarrassment and the wish that he'd had someone to better prepare him and his dad both. Burt had done the best he could, but there is only so much you can do when your son starts shaking and moaning and collapses on the turkey at Thanksgiving. A hasty, semi-public branding had followed (his dad had been convinced that he was going to go into cardiac arrest). And then Kurt had come in his pants in front of his aunt Sarah.

 

*

 

"That's good. Let's try the breathing against the wall this time. I want you to really feel the way your diaphragm expands."

It's past their normal lesson time, but Blaine hasn't said anything and Kurt is excited; they are making excellent progress.

"Okay, take a deep breath. Let your torso expand. Down, forward, out, just let it happen." Blaine's eyelashes sweep down over flushed cheeks. They are so _long_. Kurt wets his lips unconsciously. "Breathe all the way to the bottom of your torso and—very good—breathe out, breath warm no noise, don't let your abdominals contract—there we go." He has one hand flat on Blaine's stomach and the other just barely there brushing his shoulder. "Feel the way you're pushing into my hand."

"God, that’s weird," Blaine says. "But I get what you mean about the expansion and the way the breath comes differently." 

He breathes, in and out, up and out, out and in, and Kurt splays his fingers across the dip of his belly. Blaine's lips are curled into this sweet little smile, and his cheeks are red, and his pulse is throbbing visibly at his throat. Kurt is staring at Blaine's mouth and he realizes it all at once and jerks his hand along Blaine's shoulder before removing it. 

Blaine flinches. Kurt...really needs to stop doing that, it's—

"Okay, five note descent?” he asks, quick and high-pitched. “Let's see if you can hold it on the last note without getting shaky."

Blaine does, and it's just about the sweetest thing that Kurt's ever heard.

 

*

 

After the basics are covered, their lessons become more like jam sessions than teaching exercises. Blaine has come so far in just a few short months that most of the time Kurt is all too happy to share the piano and sing duets until he’s blue in the face. There's no other way to explain it; Blaine just _blossoms_ under Kurt's attention. It is becoming, Kurt thinks, more like hanging out with a friend than a student.

And that's when he realizes that it has to stop.

He likes Blaine too much. He respects Blaine too much. He’s stopped seeing Blaine as just his student, as just a seventeen year old, and it's not right. It’s Kurt’s job to enforce the boundaries of their respective roles, and if he spends any more time alone with Blaine he’s afraid that he won’t be able to do that.

One afternoon he begins, "Blaine? You've come so far recently, and so I have to ask. Would you consider joining the show choir? I think it would give you a chance to really spread your wings.” 

While perhaps not as diverse in talent as in years past, New Directions is a well-rehearsed, nice bunch of kids who just love performing. They have their divas and their blow-ups, but it's never a waste of time for Kurt, even on the worst of days. They might actually have a shot at winning next year, if Kurt can keep the underclassmen interested.

"I'd like that," Blaine answers, smiling. His hand falls on top of Kurt's on the piano keys, which jangle faintly. He squeezes just once and then retreats with a guilty, sideways glance. His face is red. 

_Shit_ , Kurt thinks.

"With our after school meetings and rehearsals, though, you'd have to sacrifice these lessons. It would be too much of a demand on your time to do both." Kurt refuses to let his voice shake. He has to end this. He can't continue giving Blaine instruction in private, can’t continue watching his commands carried out without hesitation by Blaine without eventually connecting it to a larger, more complicated emotion.

"Oh," Blaine breathes. "I see." The tension in his limbs is immediately painful to Kurt, who wants to reach out and make it go away in a rush of irrational dominance.

"We'll have so much more fun, I promise. You _belong_ there, Blaine."

"Okay, Mr. Hummel." He smiles weakly. "If you—if you think so."

He catches Blaine's eye and puts his hand over Blaine's in a mirror of the gesture that Blaine had made just moments ago. "I do."

 

*

 

Blaine does do well in show choir. 

He is immediately adopted into the Sub Club (as they like to call it), which is a little clique that had been created by the sub members of the choir. Kurt is relieved to see that happen; in the beginning that group of friends had actually changed the lives of several members of the choir for the better. Inclusion gives them a chance to feel more protected by numbers, and they encourage each other in subtle ways to stand up and sing solos and not to be so anxious about exposure.

He begins to dress differently; he loses the hide-me clothing and slides gradually into colored shirts, tailored pants, little hats and bracelets and bow ties and all sorts of attention grabbing items that make Kurt hum inside with pleasure. He is a darling, darling kid and okay, Kurt is more than a little chuffed that Blaine is copying some of his own flamboyancy.

Blaine performs his first solo just before the holiday break. 

He refuses to tell Kurt about it beforehand, which would normally not be allowed, but Kurt just can't demand the truth when he looks at that mischievous face and sees the almost-flirtatious twist that takes over Blaine's mouth and eyes when he teases Kurt. 

It pushes every dom button that Kurt has to be playfully _refused_.

The last thing he expects Blaine to sing is "When I Get You Alone" by Robin Thicke.

Kurt sits, spine ramrod straight, at the front of the classroom as Blaine dances around the choir room with several of the boys for back-up in his Dalton uniform, rocking the song possibly harder than the original artist. He’s _completely_ self-possessed. 

The girls cheer and swoon in a playfully mocking kind of way and soon they're up and dancing around Blaine and Kurt would be so fucking _proud_ of Blaine and of them right now if it weren't for the inappropriate feelings that have _exploded_ in his gut.

When they're finished he congratulates them on a job well done, then adds, "A little racy, guys, let's try and keep it PG next week—but you were awesome. Good focus." He adjusts his tie and waits until the room is empty, then goes to sit in his office with the door closed.

Jesus. Jesus _Christ_ , what it wrong with him?

He can't stop seeing in his mind’s eye that sleek preppy outfit and Blaine spinning and swaying and jumping up on chairs and slamming some notes out of the piano, only to swing up and around and twirl one of the girls, then one of the guys with a saucy wink.

Someone knocks on his door and he jumps.

It's Blaine, standing in Kurt’s doorway with his blazer folded over his arm. His dress shirt is rumpled and his tie is loose, and the way those pants hug his legs all the way down—

Kurt inhales sharply. 

Blaine's head is tilted and his hair a little wavy.

_Fuck._

"Yes?" Kurt squeaks.

"It was too much, wasn't it?"

Kurt's mouth opens and closes several times. "It was a little inappropriate, Blaine.” His voice is still high and it actually cracks a little and since when does he allow himself to get out of control around a _student_?

"I'm sorry. I just—I felt it, you know? It felt _good_ and I wanted to do something that came naturally." Blaine smiles lopsidedly. "Clearly, without your constant influence I am sliding into severe misbehavior, sir." He leans against the door, hip cocked, hands in his pockets. Christ, his _jaw_. His jaw and his throat and his stubble and his goddamn puppy dog eyes.

"Blaine, I—I was impressed by your comfort level and the thought you put into the choreography. But please, let's keep things school-appropriate during glee club, okay?"

Blaine's expression shuts off so quickly that it's like flicking a switch. He swallows and nods and backs up. "Gotcha, Mr. Hummel." His voice is so full of rejection that Kurt wants to call his name but Kurt just _can't_ , he has to stop this right now.

 

*

 

Kurt had never had a boyfriend in high school. He'd been teased because of his sexuality from the moment he arrived as a freshman and it had been hard enough to just make friends and graduate, much less date or lose his virginity. He’d patched the last few weeks of his senior year, and naturally looked forward to college and the whirlwind dom social life that awaited, pretty boys on their knees and backs for him, all begging and wanting and _needing_ him.

When no such boys appeared, he had settled for trying to find a sub boyfriend that fit both his needs and his lifestyle. To his disappointment, that had failed as well; sub or not, most of the guys he got involved with were never a good match for him and, despite _knowing_ that even as he plunged into relationships with them, he still kept trying and failing to make it work.

In the end he’d never experienced the college life that he'd fantasized so much about, and before he knew it he was a teacher at his old high school and he sort of stopping thinking about relationships altogether. 

Until now.

 

*

Kurt spends his summer break rearranging his house, visiting with family, working his summer job at a local men's clothing store, and going on shopping dates with Emma. He tries to fill every moment of his time off with something, anything, so that he doesn't have any space leftover whatsoever to fit Blaine into in his head. It doesn't work.

At night when he's sprawled out on his bed his mind finds Blaine, sweet and tan and smooth (well, not entirely; there had been just the slightest teasing of chest hair at the top button of that dress shirt) and kneeling for him, palms on his thighs in the correct position, head down and neck exposed.

Kurt grips his cock and spreads his legs.

He imagines Blaine's sweet, thick pink mouth parting because he can't breathe correctly because he is quaking with the need to be touched, to be told what to do next, and he has no idea what's coming and that in and of itself makes him fucking _shake_. 

He's sweating a little and Kurt can smell it, musky and boyish. Kurt steps in front of him and he whimpers, just because Kurt is there, and Kurt cups Blaine's head in his right hand and tips it up and Blaine's eyes are so big, so wide, so wet, and he nudges his hips forward and Blaine's breath is hot and coming fast against the zipper of his pants—

He comes so hard that he sees white.

 

*

The school year comes around yet again. 

Blaine is an eighteen year old high school senior now, and though Kurt knows that he can't have changed that much in just a couple months he does look different; he stands taller and his face is leaner and there are muscles in places where there weren’t muscles before.

Several weeks into the new school year, Blaine appears in the choir room by himself. "Hey," he says, approaching Kurt who is sitting at the piano making notes on a sheet of music.

"Hello, Blaine," Kurt says, smiling and motioning to the chair that's opposite the piano.

Blaine now wears his adorably preppy clothes with confidence and yet, despite all the positive changes, he looks tired. Kurt thinks about saying something to Emma, but—well, he's spent more time talking about Blaine with faculty and Blaine's parents than he's spent talking to Blaine about himself. 

This may have been the right thing to do, but the right thing isn't always the _best_ thing.

"You look tired." He turns to give Blaine his full attention. “How are you feeling?”

"Um," Blaine replies. "Stomach thing. Just getting over it." He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

*

 

Blaine gets fidgety in choir class and at rehearsals; he argues with one of the girls over a fumbled dance move, he interjects sarcastic comments about song choices, and he's physically closing up again. Kurt begins to see a little bit of that mood swing tendency that Emma had told him about last year. He doesn’t _understand_ it, though.

About the same time, Blaine starts to get bullied. 

Kurt does a smoking check in the boy's bathroom and finds Blaine rinsing a red slushie off of his face. He also finds Blaine climbing out of the dumpster in the parking lot behind the cafeteria on more than one occasion on his way into school.

He reports the incidents, and raises a stink in the principal's office but Blaine refuses to lodge a complaint, so there is very little that he can do. He asks Blaine about it one afternoon and all Blaine says is, "I exist now. Of course it's going to happen."

He hears through the student gossip grapevine that Blaine has gone on a several dates with a very popular dom girl and it shocks him. Blaine is acting very out of character, and Kurt doesn't know what to do. The urge to take care of Blaine, to surround him and keep him from the unkindness of others, is intense and deep-seated and wholly inappropriate.

No matter how hard Kurt fights it, he has _feelings_ for this young man who may no longer haunt his door but never goes very far from it, either.

 

*

 

One week they have to use the cafeteria to rehearse because the cheerleaders have the auditorium and the choir room floor is being waxed. 

Blaine stays after to help Kurt move the tables back into place. It's awkward. They haven't been alone after hours since—Kurt can't even remember the last time. He has been so good about it, every gesture and word carefully sculpted to be proper, every glance devoid of personal feeling.

He is just thinking of a way to break the silence without seeming too friendly when Blaine collapses. At first, Kurt thinks that he has just tripped and fallen, but then he gasps and curls into the fetal position.

Kurt rushes over to him. "Blaine? Blaine!"

"Oh god," Blaine sobs.

"Did you—are you hurt? Did you cut yourself? What's wrong?"

He touches Blaine's left shoulder and the boy literally jerks away, crying out. "No don't—don't—"

It's his left shoulder. How the _fuck_ did Kurt not notice this before?

Kurt pants nervously, eyes darting around the empty room, and then makes a decision. If Blaine is—he has to _do something_. He lowers his voice and says, evenly, "Take off your shirt."

Blaine whimpers. He scrambles, pulling his shirt over his head. And there it is; his patch and the tattoo at the center of it, a vivid, angry black x. Not surprising, but—

The patch is _old_. It looks like it's crested and healed a dozen times, and is that _scar tissue_?

"Blaine. Blaine, how long have you had your patch? How long has this been happening?"

He's crying. "Please don't—"

"Tell me."

"Freshman year."

Oh my god. "Why didn't you tell someone, why are you doing this to yourself? You could've _died_ —"

"It kept coming, and going, and coming, and I—didn't want to tell anyone. If I told, if I—I'd have to tell them that I'm gay, too, and I just—I couldn't. I didn't want anyone to know. My parents—they'll _hate_ me."

Kurt deflates, feeling panicky and stupid and useless. He wants to _murder_ Blaine’s parents for doing this to him. He wants to _scream_ at the top of his lungs. But the truth is that Blaine needs someone strong right now, and nothing else matters, nothing. "Stay here. I’m going to call an ambulance."

"No," Blaine cries, rolling over onto his knees and tucking his head down against the floor. "No, please, not—I don't want anyone to see me like this."

Kurt can't help but respond to the plea in that voice. "I—then I'll have to, to do it, Blaine." Blaine sobs again, rocking. 

Kurt finds the first aid kit on the wall of the cafeteria door and comes back with it and the kneeling pad that's always nearby in case a sub needs it. He drags Blaine onto the pad. "Kneel. Kneel up for me, you have to." 

He _has_ to be a dom right now, has to do this right for Blaine, otherwise what's the point of being here?

What's the point of him if he can't take care of Blaine?

Inside the first aid kit there is a branding kit containing distilled water, the standard government issue dom and sub branding irons (thin metal about a half an inch across) in the shape of an X and an O, a small torch to heat the iron, and bandages and antiseptics and pain killers for after. 

Kurt has never had to use one.

Blaine is arched over his own thighs, his long, muscled back tan and wide and sweaty, and his hair coming loose from that day's gel. His patch looks raw and painful, but Kurt knows just how sensitive it can be, and how pleasure and pain can combine for subs in ways that is truly uncanny. 

He cleans the area with the distilled water, and then heats the brand. A digital indicator on the side lets him know when it’s hot enough. The smell of the heated metal flaring between them makes him nervous.

"Sit up. You have to. It won't take correctly otherwise, it has to be even. Blaine. Sit up, _now_."

He does, with effort. As a last minute thought, Kurt wraps his free arm around Blaine's neck to steady him, and presses a knuckle in between his teeth. He’s sure that there was something in the kit for Blaine to bite down on, but it’s too late to look for it now; Kurt doesn’t want to risk the brand cooling off.

"Are you ready?" Blaine bites against his knuckle, sweat pouring down his face, eyes wild with pain. He nods frantically. 

Kurt lines the shape of the brand against the shape of the natural tattoo and presses, hard and fast.

Blaine screams for what feels like an age. Finally, the brand beeps to let him know it’s done, and Kurt pulls away, the smell of burning flesh acrid and sharp in his nostrils. He lets Blaine slump forward against his arm, knuckle falling out of Blaine's mouth, damp with spit and bite marks.

"It's okay. I know. I know. Don't worry. You're okay." He checks Blaine’s pulse, Blaine’s pupils, Blaine’s skin color, and everything _seems_ normal.

"No I—I can't—I—" Blaine whimpers and his hips _squirm_ and he's—

Hard, tenting his loose trousers, and shaking, in Kurt's arms. Flabbergasted, Kurt breathes into his hair, not looking, not looking, not looking—just a medical function—

"I'll get you something; I'll just go right next door—"

"Don't leave me," Blaine begs.

"Blaine, I can't—this is—"

"Please, I can't. I can't unless you let me. I can't. It hurts, please...please _let_ me, please."

Kurt can't breathe. No one has ever talked to him like that, _pulled_ at his insides like that. No one. No one has ever _needed_ him like that. Blaine is the most beautiful thing that Kurt has ever seen, bent and broken with his raw shoulder and that mark glowing black and now ringed with pink and red, that mark that reminds Kurt of a spread-eagled body, waiting, just waiting, for the circle that will surround it, protect it, _complete_ it.

"You can," he moans. "Come, Blaine. Come, it’s okay."

"Thank you," Blaine sobs, and falls apart, body literally heaving with it, falling forward onto his knees with his forehead on the kneeling pad and jerking, jerking, jerking as he soaks the front of his sweatpants.

Kurt falls back into a sitting position on the floor and just stares, anywhere but at Blaine. He can't look at him, because if he does he's going to do something that he could never undo.

Blaine, marked by his hand, undone by his permission, spent and labeled _submissive_ on the ground.

He can't comprehend the fact that Blaine has had that mark for years. What a torment it must have been, the pain and confusing arousal that it must have caused. No one patches that young, _no one_ , and not wanting to come out because of it, because people would expect him to start wanting to be dominated early, because he'd have to explain that he's gay, and he didn't want to be a sub and gay and _alone_ all at the same time, so he just hid it, he just suffered, for _years_ —

It breaks Kurt's heart.

 

*

The aftermath is messy but brief. 

There are long discussions with Blaine's parents and the school board, and in the end they sign Blaine's orientation paperwork and tell Kurt that he'd done the right thing. There is no insinuation of anything inappropriate happening between them; they'd been doing something school related at the time, and Kurt had been there when it happened, and that is that. 

Blaine's parents are just relieved that it's over and don't seem to be concerned with the fact that their son has been suffering for years because they are _neglectful animals_ , and they should've known, they should've noticed, what is _wrong_ with them? And then the coming out, because that had been another painful aspect of these conversations, and Blaine's mother had looked away as if to say well there isn't anything we can do to change it now is there? And Blaine's father had just huffed and sighed. 

They actually have the nerve to invite Kurt over for dinner to thank him for reacting so quickly to Blaine's predicament. He would rather throw their very expensive lobster bisque in their _faces_ , but he eats and smiles and nods for Blaine’s sake.

After dinner, he follows Blaine up to his room. Blaine sits on the bed and curls up a little, arms going around his knees, wincing as his shoulder moves.

"How do you feel?" Kurt asks.

"Awake," Blaine says, gruff and low. "Ignoring it put me into this dreamy state where it was easy to just not feel anything. And then it would flare up and I'd get—agitated, and in trouble, and everyone just thought I was a jerk. Or very confused."

Kurt sits on the chair in front of Blaine's computer desk and turns it to face the bed. "You never were, were you? Either a jerk or confused?" 

"No." Blaine stares blankly ahead. "I always knew I was a sub, I always knew I was gay. I just didn't want anyone _else_ to know."

"Why, Blaine?"

"There is nothing out there for people like me. I'm never going to find a dom. I'm always going to be alone, and I just—I wanted to forget that. I thought if I ignored it hard enough it might just go away.”

"There is always something and _someone_ out there for people like you." Kurt takes a deep breath. "For people like _us_."

Blaine looks at him, sharp and sudden. "You're...?"

"As a rainbow-colored penny." It doesn't matter anymore if this confession is inappropriate; branding someone is about as intimate as it gets, and Blaine _needs_ him to be honest right now. Someone has to talk this poor kid off of the ledge that he's standing on.

"Oh," Blaine breathes, eyes going wide and misty.

"I haven't had the best of luck in that department," Kurt admits, not wanting to create a hype that he can't live up to. "But you will. You're young and talented and smart and—you will, Blaine. Trust me."

Blaine's eyes fill up with tears. "Could you—I'd like to be alone."

"Of course. I'll see you at school, okay?"

 

*

"How's the senior class looking?"

Kurt hugs his hot chocolate closer to his chest and looks at his dad across the kitchen table. "Pretty good, actually. I think we might actually place this year. Blaine's an excellent front man; classical good looks, great voice, amazing dance moves, and he can pull off the classics as well as pop music. If I can pair him up with my best female soloist and get a couple of the other kids to stop being so shy about vocals I think I can put together a really solid set for Sectionals."

"You've mentioned him before."

Kurt blinks. "Have I?"

"A lot, actually."

Kurt smiles and looks down.

"Is he a sub?" Burt asks.

"Yes," Kurt sighs. "I'm trying to mentor him, I guess." He explains Blaine's situation, up to and including the emergency branding and how shocking it had been to find that he'd been patching since he was fourteen.

"Damned unique case," Burt agrees.

"His parents are awful, Dad. It would almost be better if they outright rejected him; instead they're just indifferent, and they clearly don't like that he's a sub, and then he had to come out at the same time and that was even worse." Kurt sighs.

"Can’t imagine being that way toward your child,” Burt grumbles. “You really feel for this kid, don't you? Not that I'm surprised. It's what makes you a great teacher. Kids need looking after." Burt smiles. "Hey. How's about you invite him over here for dinner? Maybe between you and me we could start setting him straight?"

Kurt's not sure if that's the best idea, but he finds it impossible to say no to that.

 

*

Burt calls Blaine’s parents for permission to invite their son to dinner.

“There’s something just not right about those folks,” he tells Kurt over the phone the next day. That’s Burt Hummel for “what the fuck is wrong with these people”. They had given permission for Blaine to come over that Saturday, though.

When he asks Blaine over for dinner, he phrases the invitation to make it seem like it is coming more from his dad than himself. He quickly tacks on that Blaine’s parents have already said yes. 

“I’d love to,” Blaine replies. They agree on a time and exchange phone numbers.

Kurt tries very hard not to think about it until that Saturday evening. Blaine arrives, wearing black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a dinner jacket. His hair is carefully gelled and he’s holding a bottle of wine and a bottle of sparkling cider. Kurt _stares_ , and Blaine stares back, and they both smile like fools.

“Come in,” Kurt says. “You um, you might be a little overdressed for the Hummel house, but you—you look very nice, Blaine.”

Blaine blushes. “Thank you, Mr. Hummel.”

He doesn’t know what possesses him but he hears himself saying, “You may want to call me Kurt. Otherwise you’re going to confuse my dad. When we’re not in school, you can—you can call me Kurt.”

Blaine stares at him, lips parting. “Kurt. Okay.”

Dinner is simple and full of light conversation. Kurt can tell that his dad immediately takes a liking to Blaine. He doesn’t even want to admit how much that pleases him. 

After they finish eating, Kurt asks, “Blaine, would you clear the table?”

When that’s done, Kurt serves dessert.

“There’s a game on tonight. Are you a college basketball man, Blaine?”

He surprises Kurt by answering, “Yes, sir.”

“Well then. I’ll just have to borrow Blaine for a while. Do you mind, Kurt?”

“Not at all.” He can clean up after dinner and clear his head. Eating a meal with Blaine had been more intimate than he’d expected it to be, and every time Blaine had reached up to scratch at his sub tattoo Kurt had felt something _jerk_ deep within his belly.

He never knows what Burt says to Blaine while they watch basketball that night, but Blaine comes back into the kitchen an hour later trembling, and he’s obviously been crying. He slumps into a chair at the table and says, “Your father is amazing.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I—I’m just a little.” He waves his hands in the air. “Could we—your dad said it would be okay if we went somewhere quiet.”

Kurt’s room downstairs isn’t a bedroom anymore, but it still has a couch and a television. Heart pounding, he leads Blaine there, flicking on a lamp and then the television.

He tries so hard not to stare at Blaine, but it's impossible; Blaine is the very image of every teenage fantasy Kurt used to have of a dark handsome boy with a face like an angel looking at him as if he is the only person in the world. 

Kurt sits on the couch and offers up the remote. “Did you want to finish the game?”

Blaine looks at him. “Can I just sit with you?”

_Oh._

Never breaking eye contact, Kurt takes a throw pillow from the couch and puts it on the floor by his feet. Blaine shudders, eyes fluttering closed in a look of almost unbearable relief. He sinks to his knees on the pillow and puts his hands on his thighs.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“Talk to me?”

“Your dad—I’ve never met anyone like him.” He bends over his chest, pressing a fist to the very center, as if it aches.

Kurt can’t help it; he reaches out and puts a hand on Blaine’s hair. The boy instantly relaxes; a breath and a low noise leave his chest like poison being expelled.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, so low that Kurt almost doesn’t hear him. “I’m—imposing. I know I am.”

“You were invited, Blaine. You aren’t imposing. You're _wanted_ here.”

But that’s not what he meant and Kurt knows it. He is still shaking. The urge to do something more to calm him is almost overwhelming. He could slide a hand around the back of Blaine’s neck and pull his cheek down against his knee. He could card his fingers through Blaine’s hair. He could lean down and kiss him, soft at first and then harder, and harder still, maybe a little too hard, and then Blaine would whine and twist and Kurt would hold him fast and push Blaine’s lips apart with his tongue—

“Kurt?” Blaine is staring at him, up on his knees, concern written across his features.

“If I keep the volume low, would you mind if I turned on the television?” Kurt pushes out in one breath.

Blaine frowns, just once, and then shakes his head.

 

*

 

“Our session last week? Total break-through; I really think he’s opening up to me,” Emma gushes.

Kurt smiles, but inside his mind is racing and his heart is pounding and all he can think about is Blaine on his knees, Blaine begging without begging. 

_Fuck._

He has never used the faculty bathroom for anything but its intended use. Today he finds himself in there, cock in his hand, desperate and shaking as he strokes himself off to the images that have been rolling around his head since the weekend.

He can’t remember the last time he’d been this aroused. 

He comes, gasping, into a tissue in his right hand, but it doesn’t seem to solve anything; he’s just as wound up as before, only stickier, and if Blaine had actually been there, maybe it would be a soft, wet, eager tongue licking him clean right now instead of a scratchy tissue, those huge eyes looking up at him, those _lips_ swallowing him down.

 _Shit. Fuck._

His cock twitches.

 

*

 

They pair off to work on choreography and there are an odd number of students, so Kurt makes the snap decision to pair up with Blaine himself. It’s irrational and possessive and he knows it, but knowing it doesn’t stop him the way it used to. Blaine is comfortable with him; it feels natural to ask, and it’s not the first time that Kurt has paired with a student for dance instruction.

There’s truly nothing inappropriate about it; they don’t touch bodies much except for the steps of the choreography, and Kurt teaches as he swings Blaine around, so it’s not intimate. That doesn’t stop it from feeling indescribably good and right, to spin Blaine and dip him, counting off the beat. Blaine is liquid in his arms and it all feels so effortless.

The one time that his hand had closed around Blaine’s left shoulder he couldn’t help but savor the surprised gasp that had tumbled from Blaine’s lips. There had been just a split-second glance between them, both of their faces flushed and Blaine’s mouth just inches from Kurt’s own. No one would’ve noticed it, it was over that quickly, but Kurt thinks about it all afternoon.

Blaine comes back at the end of the day for further instruction. It’s something that Kurt has avoided for the most part, but Blaine is the male lead and aside from anything personal between them Blaine has to be completely confident in his ability to pull that off. Refusing him extra help would definitely defeat that purpose and, most of all, Kurt really wants his kids to go all the way this year.

“Alright, don’t laugh. I’ve got a song with the perfect rhythm for this. I want to kind of take you into a different head space for it; I think you’ll like it.”

Blaine shrugs off his bag and unzips the sweatshirt he’s wearing to reveal the jeans and tight t-shirt underneath. Kurt pointedly _does not_ look. He sets the song to repeat and grins as “More Than a Woman” by the Bee Gees fills the room.

“Oh, my god,” Blaine laughs. “You’re serious.”

“As the grave,” Kurt answers. “It’ll loosen you up. Come on. Humor me.”

Blaine glances around the empty auditorium, then smiles, sweet and secretive, and slides into Kurt’s arms. “There’s an age joke in here somewhere, but I think I’ll save it for when you aren’t expecting it.”

“Hey, even _I_ made fun of this when I was in high school. It was still fun, though.” Kurt spins them, then pushes Blaine out to arm’s length, and then pulls him back in again. He waits a beat, then puts one hand on Blaine’s lower back and dips him halfway to the floor.

“Oh,” Blaine laughs, pressing his face into Kurt’s shoulder when he comes back up.

 _God_ , it feels so good to be close to him. They move beautifully together and, being a couple inches taller than Blaine, it’s easy for Kurt to lead.

Kurt loses track of how many times the song repeats. At some point, Blaine abandons the distance between them and tucks his cheek against Kurt’s shoulder. Their chests and bellies brush, and Blaine cradles one of Kurt’s hands in his between their bodies.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, softly, not even knowing what to say or do, just wanting to _say his name_.

“Please,” Blaine sighs, and turns his face a fraction of an inch; Kurt shivers when Blaine’s eyelashes tickle his cheek. “Please can we just—a little longer?”

“Okay,” Kurt whispers, stroking his free hand up Blaine’s back. “Shh, okay.”

And they don’t let each other go.

 

*

 

Kurt makes an appointment with his therapist, and then cancels it. He wants to confess to someone so badly that it hurts, but he knows that Blaine’s _life_ is part of this and he can’t just—he can’t do it.

He throws himself into the show choir. They win at Sectionals for the first time in years, and he floats on that high for a while, but coming home bursts the professional bubble around him and Blaine yet again.

 

*

 

Blaine has only grown more into himself since patching. 

He has made close friends among the choir class and the show choir. He always has something interesting to say in class or to contribute to their plans for Regionals. His grades are up, his teachers are happy with him, and even though he still gets picked on along with the rest of the class he seems to be handling the exposure better in general. He's _radiant_. 

And Kurt is in way over his head.

It’s little things; he asks Blaine to run small fetch and carry errands for him. He asks for help in the classroom, moving chairs and putting away instruments and passing out papers, and with each request Blaine is on his feet and _vibrating_ with the need to satisfy before Kurt even finishes asking. It is driving Kurt crazy, and he loves every minute of it.

Blaine grows brighter with every passing day. With every task completed. Every thank you, every nod, every approving smile. He _blossoms_. And Kurt _did_ that. It's better than drugs, it's better than cheesecake on a bad day; hell, it's better than most of the sex Kurt's had; it's just better, making Blaine open up, flex his wings, _love_ himself. 

 

*

 

"Oh, come on. Teenage Dream is a classic. Everyone will love it; it was my go-to start-up song at Dalton—"

"I don't know, Blaine." 

Which of course leads to Blaine performing Teenage Dream for him, which leads to Kurt _falling apart_ inside because there is no way that this guy can be real, there is just no way that someone with so much talent and love and life in him has somehow fallen into Kurt's life, it's just _not possible_.

 

*

 

They place at Regionals.

Blaine looks at him in the crush afterward, costume a mess and makeup smeared and says, "Teenage Dream. I told you so."

 

*

 

He finds himself in the basement at his dad's house with Blaine after a second dinner invitation, only this time Blaine seems comfortable enough to sit on the couch opposite him. 

Kurt keeps sneaking glances at him. He’s not particularly skilled at being subtle about it. It’s become almost impossible to maintain the distance between them, for his part. And every time he allows a glance, a smile, or a flirtatious gaze, Blaine reacts with equal interest.

Kurt takes a breath, and then exhales, “Would you come and sit next to me?” Blaine scoots over and when he’s close enough Kurt puts an arm around his shoulder and tugs until Blaine’s head is perched lightly there. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” Blaine says, smiling, his muscles going lax under Kurt’s fingers. “Thank you.”

They watch half an episode of a show that Kurt can’t bring himself to care about. All he can feel is Blaine’s warm, smaller body tucked up against his, pliant and content. Blaine’s breathing coming warm and soft against his shoulder—

And his neck. And his ear. 

“Do you remember the night that you branded me?” Blaine asks.

_Oh god._

“How could I forget it? You scared me half to death.”

“You have no idea how grateful I was that it was you. That I wasn’t alone, yes, but mostly that it was you. And that the choice to tell someone about it was taken out of my hands. I had been fighting it, hiding it, for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to feel normal.”

“Is that how you feel now, normal?”

“I feel—hungry. Like I’ve been asleep for years and now I’m awake and I want _everything_.” Kurt’s face heats up. Blaine’s voice is rough and uneven against his ear. His hand closes in a fist around the front of Kurt’s shirt. “Your hand was on my back. You told me I could, and I—I _did_ , and I could feel you touching me, and the brand was so hot that I couldn’t even hold on to the pain; it felt like it was everywhere.” 

Kurt bites his lips shut to stifle the groan that rises in his throat. He can sense Blaine spiraling and he _needs_ to do something. He turns and meets Blaine’s gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he fumbles for the buttons of Blaine’s shirt, undoing enough so that he can slide his hand up and around to Blaine’s patch. He brushes his fingers across the rough skin and Blaine _jerks_ , gasping. “Oh,” he whimpers, “oh.”

And something inside Kurt just fucking _breaks_.

“Close your eyes.” Kurt begins stroking the tattoo, savoring every twitch and gasp. It’s possible to induce orgasm by touching the tattoo directly, and Kurt is fully aware of that. “You were beautiful that night. There was so much pain, but you were _beautiful_. I wanted to do it. I know that it’s wrong; I know that I shouldn’t have. But I _wanted to do it_. I wanted to brand you.” He cups Blaine’s face in his other hand, drags his thumb across Blaine’s trembling mouth. Blaine’s throat expands, and Kurt presses his fingernails into Blaine’s skin. “Don’t talk. Don’t.” He lets go, just lets the fuck go, feeling his world shrink to nothing more than Blaine in front of him, under his hands, _needing_ him to know what he needs, to see the lines that define him and _push_ them. Kurt loses track of how many times he stops and starts touching the tattoo. Blaine goes past over-stimulation and into discomfort. After an impossibly long time, Kurt asks, "Is it hurting?" 

Blaine sobs, "Yes."

"Do you need me to stop?"

"N-no."

"Good boy," Kurt exhales, and Blaine _convulses_. He is stunning like this, folded up so still, face twisted and sweating from a mixture of extreme pleasure and anguish. He is _so good_ , such a natural, how is it possible that Kurt has _waited_ this long?

It's difficult to say exactly what seems like the right moment to Kurt; an almost-invisible instability in Blaine's muscles or a certain excess of discomfort that seems to radiate from Blaine like a vapor. Kurt simply knows that Blaine has reached his limit, and so he shifts his fingers directly over the tattoo and _presses_.

"Take a breath," he whispers into Blaine's hair. "Take a breath and when that breath is gone take another." Blaine does, and Kurt can feel him _quake_. "Slowly. Slowly. Let it go. Loosen your muscles, spread your thighs. Breathe. Breathe, and when you're ready, let it go. It's going to hurt but that's okay; take your time. You can talk. Come for me, beautiful. Come for me."

" _Kurt_ ," Blaine shouts into Kurt's shoulder, and his body arches and jerks in a staccato pattern—a snap of his body and a pause, a snap of his body and a pause—and Kurt can tell that it does indeed hurt, can feel Blaine twitch with every hard pulse of come shooting from the tip of his cock. The wetness leaves a dark stain at the front of his jeans. 

He shakes for minutes on end, until finally there is nothing left and the best and worst is over. He cries silently into Kurt's neck, and Kurt strokes his back and whispers nonsense until the tears stop. Only then does he guide Blaine's head into his lap. Blaine curls up around his thigh like a kitten, trembling.

"How do you feel? Do you need anything?"

"I—wonderful. Just. Like I can breathe. Can I—water, maybe?"

"I'll be just a minute." He returns with several bottles of water and then watches while Blaine drinks. He looks _broken_ , red-faced and puffy-eyed and exhausted, but in the best way possible. Kurt can tell the difference between bad broken and good broken.

Blaine falls asleep in his lap for a while, then wakes up and checks the time. "I don't want to go," he says, sleepily. "But my curfew—"

"I know," Kurt says, staring down at him. "Are you okay to go upstairs now? Maybe get some air? I want you completely calm before I let you go."

Blaine nods, and they wander outside and take a walk down the block and back. Kurt can't help putting a hand on Blaine's back every now and again, but he tries to keep the physical stuff to a minimum.

"You are incredible," Blaine says, eventually, and it's obvious that he's been working up to it. "I—I don't know what else to say."

"You don't have to say anything, but," Kurt replies, smiling easily at him. “Thank you.”

Blaine bites his lip and takes a breath, then reaches down and laces their fingers together. "Can we just do this for a while?"

Kurt nods, and leads Blaine carefully down the uneven sidewalk.

 

*

 

Kurt is hip-deep in college recommendation letters. He normally _loves_ this time of year, but things are busier than they've ever been before; between Nationals, Blaine, and the end of the school year looming, he doesn't have much time to relax.

He'd written Blaine’s letter weeks ago, and they'd also sat down with Emma to have a long talk about college options. Blaine has applied to several performing arts schools in New York and California (he wouldn't settle for anywhere else). Kurt personally thinks he has a real shot of getting in Tisch, but he doesn't say anything. There are smaller schools, more intimate schools, but the truth is that Blaine's parents can afford the best and Blaine deserves a shot at the best. If he decides that it isn't for him, Kurt knows that he'll succeed in whatever he chooses to do. 

The fact is, in just a few short months he's going to lose Blaine to adulthood and he doesn't know how he's going to say goodbye. It seems as if they haven't even really said _hello_ properly, and—

He sighs. There's no point in dwelling. 

 

*

 

It's simple for about a week. They don't act differently, at all. It's surprisingly easy.

And then he starts to forget. Blaine will be wearing a little cardigan and a bow tie and his mouth will be _red_ , so red because he bites his lips all the time, and Kurt will fall into a trance staring at him, at the way his shirt cuts tight across his biceps or the way his _ass looks in those pants, Jesus fucking Christ_ , or Blaine will let his hair go a little that day and the _waves and curls_ , or his beautiful, lively eyes, or his _shoulders_ , and Kurt just wants to fall through the floor, he is so perfect.

When he notices, Blaine will flush delicately, and he'll wet his lips, and Kurt will have to force his attention elsewhere because he can’t look at all that raw, innocent interest and not want to _roll in it_.

He's dominated Blaine but he hasn't—they haven't— _done_ anything, really. Touching the mark is intimate, but it's common for teenagers; it's an easy way to have an orgasm without risk and embarrassment. It’s not what one would consider _sex_. Then again, it’s a sex _act_ , and Kurt still doesn't know how to define exactly what they've done and what they are.

What he does know is that he has broken his ethical code completely; but then again a part of him has known it was inevitable from the moment that he branded Blaine that night in the cafeteria. There are some things about being a dom that just don't seem to fit every day notions of morality and professional distance, and this is one of those things.

Blaine lingers in his doorway to his office sometimes and they talk because they can't do anything else at school. They talk about everything and nothing, past memories and hopes for the future. Blaine doesn't talk about leaving for college, though, and Kurt dreads the time when they’ll _have_ to.

One day he blurts, "Would you like to go to dinner on Friday?"

Blaine stares at him. "We'd have to leave Lima. I mean—"

"I sort of had plans? Is that something you might like?" 

Blaine blushes, and then lights up like a Christmas tree. "I'd love to."

 

*

 

Kurt dresses to the nines, intent on impressing Blaine. Okay, so his dinner jacket has sequins and his boots have a slight heel but really, other than that, it's classic date night couture.

Blaine looks stunning in a black dress shirt and pants and a red tie. Kurt picks him up at the corner of his street, not because of any request on Blaine's part but just to be careful. 

"They didn't even ask where I was going," Blaine says as he slips into the car. "All clear."

It's a long drive to get to a restaurant far enough away that they can relax about being seen by Lima locals. They sing to the radio together to fill the time and the hour plus drive flies by.

Kurt opens Blaine's door and takes his hand as they approach the restaurant. "I decided to play it by the book and go with Italian. Do you like Italian?"

"Love it," Blaine answers.

The meal is lovely. Kurt can't recall ever just _lingering_ over a meal with someone, wanting it to last just so that he could keep his hands occupied while listening to them talk and talk and talk. Blaine is so vibrant, so energetic. It's infectious.

By the time dessert is cleared away it's almost ten o'clock at night. They stroll hand in hand back to Kurt's car, stopping only to hum the tune from the awful "Italian" music that had been playing in the restaurant and twirl each other around the parking lot. 

Inside the car Kurt says, "We'd better get going if you're going to make curfew." 

Though he doubts that Blaine's parents would even notice, Blaine seems to be compulsive about honoring the curfew and what's important to Blaine is important to him. Before Kurt can pull out of the parking lot, though, Blaine reaches over and puts a hand on his. "I need to confess something." He's all soft profile and dark colors in the dim interior of the car, and something about him in that moment makes Kurt's heart _twist_. "I—told my parents that I wouldn't be coming home tonight." Kurt's pulse throbs hard, once, just above his Adam's apple. He watches Blaine's face for a moment. "I'd like to spend the night with you. If you—would like that, too."

"I would _love_ to spend the night with you, Blaine. We can—talk more when we get back to Lima?"

The drive home feels much shorter than the drive to the restaurant had. Inside his house, Kurt gives Blaine a quick tour; there's nothing really special about his modest little suburban home, but Blaine manages to turn every detail into a treasure, making Kurt puff with pride.

He _will not_ lead Blaine into anything that Blaine isn't ready for. He repeats that like a mantra. Halfway through a suggestion that they could watch a movie or refine their song selections for Nationals, Blaine sinks to his knees on the carpet in front of the unlit fireplace. Kurt stares.

"I'm nervous," Blaine admits, his eyes very wide. "Um." He wants to fidget, Kurt can tell; but he puts his hands firmly on his thighs instead. "I've never—done anything." He licks his lips. "At all. With anyone but you."

The dates? The gossip during junior year? All untrue, it appears. "If we—if you want that with me. We need a safeword. What would you like your safeword to be?"

"Warblers." He has obviously thought about this; that’s good.

Kurt smiles. "Warblers. Okay." He can't take his eyes off of Blaine on his knees. "I—don't mean to imply that anything that happens tonight will require a safeword. But we need one before we do _anything_. It's so important, Blaine. Your comfort is all that matters to me." 

He joins Blaine on the carpet, reaching up with trembling fingers to touch his face on either side. Blaine's eyes fill with tears. Kurt leans in and kisses him, for the first time, soft as a whisper, on the lips. He makes a low, surprised noise and tenses up. His hands twist into fists around the material on his thighs. "Don't," Kurt whispers across Blaine's mouth. "You don't have to. Let go, Blaine. It's okay."

"God, _Kurt_ ," Blaine gasps, wrapping his arms around Kurt's neck and kissing him, hard and fast.

"That's it," Kurt murmurs, opening his mouth and letting Blaine's tongue in. It's wet, and warm, and inexperienced but so fucking _eager_ that it makes him _ache_. Blaine is brimming over with soft, broken little noises, and twisting his fingers in Kurt’s hair.

Kurt grips his back a little too hard, bending their bodies closer. He wraps one hand around Blaine's tie and _tugs_ , bringing Blaine to instant attention and halting the kiss. He can't help it; he wraps the tie tighter, just to watch Blaine's face freeze. His eyes are so _dark_ , pupils dilated and lips trembling. "Tell me something you'd like to do right now."

Blaine blushes, Adam's apple _bobbing_ against the restrictive cinch of the tie around his throat. "I want to touch your mark. May I?"

Kurt grins. "Of course you may." He brushes a finger across Blaine's lips. He stands, shrugging off his jacket. Blaine stares. He loosens his tie, then undoes the knotand slides it off. Blaine's mouth opens, just a little. He unbuttons his shirt and takes it off, the undershirt going along with it. 

"God, you are beautiful," Blaine whispers.

Kurt knows that he's in pretty good shape for thirty-one; he never struggled to stay slender through his twenties. He turns, letting Blaine see his naked back and the slightly faded patch and circle-shaped tattoo on his left shoulder.

Blaine stands and comes up behind him, lightly splaying his fingertips across the patch. "May I...?"

"Go ahead."

He touches the tattoo itself, and Kurt shivers. It's nowhere near as sensitive as it was when he was a teenager, but it still feels like every nerve in his body is somehow connected to it. Blaine's lips brush across it. Warm breath over his shoulder, a faint wetness on his skin; Blaine moans, kissing in between his shoulder blades, wrapping his hands around Kurt's hips on either side. "Want to touch you more, please?"

"Bedroom?" Kurt asks.

He hadn't expected this, so he is glad that he's a naturally tidy person. He just has to shift a few articles of clothing (he'd gone through far too many possible outfit choices earlier) from the bed to the dresser. 

He has a small stash of kneeling pillows of varying thickness and quality stacked by the bed. Blaine retrieves one and places it neatly at Kurt's feet, but doesn't kneel. He stands there, still, breathing unevenly, and Kurt can't stop himself from kissing Blaine; his mouth is _sweet_ , and the second kiss is better than their first. Blaine _melts_ under his mouth this time, inhaling sharply and whimpering, laying his hands lightly on Kurt's bare chest.

They part, and Blaine's mouth tentatively finders his jaw, and then his neck, and then his collarbone.

"Kneel for me?" Kurt asks.

Blaine doesn't break eye contact as he sinks down. He presses his face against Kurt's belly, closing his eyes. Kurt fingers his hair to the scalp, and feels a shiver run through him.

"May I take off your belt?" Blaine asks.

Kurt nods, shaking as Blaine's fingers slide the belt's end from the buckle, then its whole length from the loops. He presses his lips into Kurt's belly, belly button, and down to the edge of the waistband of his pants. Kurt hisses when Blaine's chin brushes his erection through two layers of clothing.

Blaine swallows noisily. "Show me how. Please."

"We've got all night," Kurt says, softly, smiling. He undoes his zipper and slides his pants off, wanting to take some of the pressure off of Blaine. Blaine blushes, looking down quickly instead of directly at Kurt's underwear clad erection. "Could you stand for me?" He takes off Blaine's tie. "More?" Blaine nods, throat working. Kurt takes off Blaine's shirt and undershirt, breathing a little faster; Blaine is _thicker_ than him, with a loose spray of hair from his sternum to his belly, and a thicker trail of it meandering down into his pants. Kurt loves that he isn't shaved smooth everywhere. "You are _gorgeous_." He's also shaking like a leaf. Kurt skims his hands around Blaine's trim waist and down his back. He doesn't even bother with the belt, just tucks his fingers into the waistband of Blaine's pants and pushes them off of his hips. “No more asking for permission, no more self-censoring," he whispers, kissing Blaine once, then twice, then a third time. "Just come to bed with me, please? Come to bed and we'll just do whatever comes naturally. No scenes, no toys."

"Yes, that's—yes, _please_ ,” Blaine stutters.

Blaine is wearing a tight pair of briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. Kurt almost loses focus entirely, thinking about how Blaine had planned to come home with him, how he had probably picked those on purpose, knowing that Kurt might see him in them, touch him in them. He _dressed for me_ , Kurt thinks, and has to _force_ his attention back to the matter at hand, the thought is so distracting.

Despite being incredibly hot, the kissing and touching on the bed is first-time awkward; Blaine still hesitates at every new touch and area explored, and Kurt has to encourage him many times. But it's worth it; it's worth it to do this _right_ , to let Blaine take it in without expecting him to be completely comfortable.

At one point they are on their sides kissing, Kurt's leg just slightly insinuated between Blaine's knees, one hand on the small of Blaine's back and the other stroking his hair, when Blaine pushes forward a little and their cocks touch through their underwear.

Blaine breaks off, gasping. "If you touch me at all I—"

Kurt can't help it; he grins playfully, trailing his fingertips down Blaine's side and kissing his earlobe. "You'll what?"

"Come," Blaine exhales, kissing the soft hollow spot underneath Kurt's jaw. "Come all over you." He kisses Kurt's throat. "Come all over the bed." He _sucks_ , hard, at Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt knows that in the morning that spot will be a bruise.

"What if I want that?" Kurt asks coyly, sliding his fingers up and down Blaine's spine.

"I want you to come first," Blaine whines, wrapping an arm around Kurt's neck. "I want to _watch_ you come. Please, Kurt." It might be easier, might make Blaine more comfortable to shift the focus from his body to Kurt's. It's not the first time that Kurt has been with a sub who wanted the focus off of themselves long enough to stop feeling scrutinized, to stop feeling _watched_.

He takes Blaine's hand and slides it between them, pressing those sweaty fingers over his erection. He turns his flushed face against Blaine's shoulder. "Touch me. Touch me, Blaine."

Blaine whimpers, rubbing, _squeezing_ , and then flattens his hands against Kurt's belly and slides it into Kurt’s underwear. " _Fuck_ , you're so hard." He wraps his hand around Kurt's cock. "And _big_."

Kurt is too busy trying not to come from the sight of Blaine's hand around him to be flattered.

Naturally, Blaine is not unfamiliar with what he's got in his hand (bless being the same sex) and he learns it from the opposite angle pretty quickly. It doesn't take long for Kurt to stumble _right into_ that edge, with Blaine panting and jerking him smooth and fast; Blaine is freaking out a little, he can tell, and his strokes are rough, but they can't stop, not now, and a little rough is always just this side of very right for Kurt.

Kurt lets his cheek hit the pillow; his hips stutter a little, and his back bends. " _Blaine_ ," he whispers, "just a little—move your thumb, to the side, and—harder, twist the head. Yesyes right there, right there, so good, so good, honey; don't stop."

Blaine's face is wild, agonized with sympathetic pleasure; he kisses Kurt dirty and fast, tongue spearing his mouth and then retreating. He's shaking like a leaf. "Come on me," he whimpers. "Come on my _skin_."

"Jesus," Kurt growls, slamming forward and grabbing Blaine's shoulder and keening, shooting spurt after spurt of warm come all over Blaine's chest and belly. It's so intense that it makes his legs _twitch_ and his face go numb for several seconds. Gasping, he rolls over on top of Blaine. It’s pure instinct that drives him to take Blaine’s wrists and pin them one over the other at the wrist above Blaine’s head.

“ _Oh_ ,” Blaine sobs.

Kurt thrusts his hips against Blaine’s. The feeling of being _on_ Blaine, holding him down against the sheets and watching his eyes roll back in his head barrels through Kurt like a freight train. He wraps himself around Blaine and feels Blaine’s legs _spread_ for him. He bottoms out between Blaine’s thighs, thrusting again, driving Blaine’s cock against his stomach. There's come _everywhere_.

He isn’t going to make Blaine wait this time.

Blaine kisses him, frantic and wet and open-mouthed. “Kurt, Kurt—please?”

“No hands, just this, can you do that for me?”

Blaine moans, nodding, and Kurt curls Blaine’s underwear down just enough to let his cock flop upright against his stomach. He thrashes, and Kurt pins his hips and _rocks_. Blaine’s legs wrap around his waist; Kurt reaches down with one free hand and steadies Blaine by the back of one sweaty, hard thigh, hauling their bodies tightly together, and Blaine—Blaine’s head goes back and his _throat_ , Jesus, just a little stubbly and sweaty and completely irresistible, Kurt _bites_ at it, feeling the salty tang of sweat dissolve on his tongue—loses it at that, scrabbling his fingernails up Kurt’s back and _coming_.

Kurt stares down at Blaine’s softening cock and pearl-slicked chest and _shivers_. His muscles are quivering, his belly heaving, and the come has streaked through his chest hair and formed a puddle at his breastbone. A stripe of it is painted as high as Blaine’s neck, and Kurt licks the fluid into his mouth, groaning at the bitter flavor, and then closes his mouth around the skin and _sucks_ , bringing Blaine’s back off the bed. He doesn’t stop until he knows that he’s left a mark, until Blaine is whimpering in pain, and then buries his face in Blaine’s hair.

It’s quiet for a while, and Kurt lets Blaine have that. But he does eventually sit up a bit, staring down at Blaine’s flushed skin, at the violently red-purple bruise on his throat. Kurt _shudders_ ; it’s beautiful there amongst all that tanned skin. Blaine’s face is tear-streaked and blissful. He realizes that he’s still holding Blaine’s wrists with one hand. He lets go, slowly, and only then does Blaine truly relax.

Kurt is fucking _undone_ , and he doesn’t even try to pretend that he isn’t. His body feels like it’s floating above the bed; his mind is a wash of buzzing dom hormones and satisfaction. His chest is tight with emotion and he just wants to _sing_ , he wants to tell everyone about this feeling, this amazing perfect huge _thing_ that has exploded inside of him, filling every empty space with warmth and light and completion.

He doesn’t need to ask Blaine how he feels, or if he’s okay. He knows. He _knows_ that they are both so much more than okay that it isn’t even funny.

He cards his fingers through Blaine’s sweat-soaked, disheveled curls. Blaine turns his head to kiss blindly at Kurt’s fingers and wrist. “You are _perfect_ ,” Kurt whispers.

Blaine falls asleep in his arms.

 

*

 

“Would you like to come in?” Blaine asks, as they sit in his driveway the next morning. “They aren’t home.”

Kurt grins, warm and secretive, at him. “That’s probably not a good idea. I have this running fantasy of tying you to your bed and—”

“Okay then, going now!” Blaine dashes out of the car, makes a show of jogging halfway to the house, then runs back and sticks his head in the driver-side window to kiss Kurt. “See you on Monday.”

The first thing Kurt does is drop by his dad’s house. He tries to make time to cook for his dad at least once every couple of weeks, and he’s feeling a little raw and emotional this morning and really, he kind of just wants to be around him. He’s flipping pancakes when his dad comes downstairs. 

“I thought I smelled something special,” he says, kissing Kurt’s hair and then sitting at the table. “You didn’t call. Some of us have lives, you know.”

Kurt grins, sliding the pancakes under a towel to keep warm while he cuts up some fruit. “Did I interrupt something? Do you have a special lady friend over?”

“Quit yapping and pass the syrup.” 

They eat quietly, no need to stand on ceremony or fill the silence with conversation.

Kurt notices his dad giving him lingering looks. “Something wrong with your pancakes?”

“You have a date last night?”

Kurt coughs. “Uh.”

“Don’t ‘uh’ me, I know that look on your face.”

His dad has mostly left discussion of his romantic life or lack thereof off the table, but ever since he’d turned thirty he could tell that there was actual concern there. His dad doesn’t want him to be alone; he _knows_ that, but it’s still difficult to talk about. “It’s new. I don’t want to jinx it.”

There's a long pause, and then, “It’s Blaine, isn’t it?”

Kurt slowly swallows his mouthful, and then puts his fork down. He _can’t_ lie to his dad. He leans forward, face burning, memorizing the exact configuration of the fruit on his plate. It’s funny how he can be as cool as a cucumber in almost any situation, but all it takes is one sentence from his dad and he’s on the verge of tears. “I think I love him, Dad.” He covers his eyes briefly, willing the tears away, but they come anyway, hot and sudden.

“You’ve never used that word about another guy before, you know that?”

“I keep trying to tell myself that he’s just a kid, but he’s _not_. I don’t think I ever saw him that way.”

“Kurt. Look at me.”

He does, and the motion allows tears to roll down his cheeks. “All I’ve heard so far is that you love this guy.” He swallows, composing himself. “Do you know how much it means to me to hear you say that after all these years watching you alone?”

“He’s my _student_.”

“You branded him. That _does_ things to people, Kurt. Now maybe it’s not a popular news topic yet, but I’m as sure about that as I am about my own name.”

"I don't know what to do," Kurt says, miserably, looking _anywhere_ but at his dad.

"For one, you don't say a word to anyone about this until Blaine is a high school graduate. After that I don't care if you lead a two-man pride parade through downtown Lima."

Kurt blinks, then spits a laugh, closing his eyes. "God, Dad, you are—ridiculous."

"Alright. Good.” Burt pats his handle on the table. “Now. I think this emotional confession stuff calls for some more syrup. And I don't wanna hear a word about it."

Kurt slides the maple syrup across the table without a single objection.

 

*

 

Emma walks alongside him, sipping her coffee. They duck into her office and she closes the door. "Do you have a second?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"I wanted to talk about Blaine. It's been a while."

"He's doing incredibly well. Is there anything to talk about?"

She pauses, then glances at her watch, then looks at the doorway. "Well. I'll let him tell you." She's grinning.

Blaine enters, closes the door behind him and grins, waving with just his fingers. "You didn't tell him yet, did you?"

Emma laughs. "Confidential, Blaine. But if you'd like to—"

"I got into three of the four schools I applied to."

Kurt's heart _twists_ , in both good and bad ways. "Oh my god, Blaine, which ones?"

"Tisch, Fullerton, and NYCDA."

"God, Blaine, that is _impressive_. I'm so happy for you, so proud."

"You've been a big help, Mr. Hummel. I just...wanted to thank you." 

Emma claps her hands together. "Happy endings, yay!"

Kurt stares at Blaine, feeling both his smile and his heart frozen in place.

Later, when they're cleaning up after glee practice, Blaine explains, "It was her idea. I'm sorry, Kurt. I really wanted to tell you in private."

"I figured something like that," he replies, briefly.

Blaine finishes the row of chairs he's been lining up, and stands very still, looking at Kurt. "Are you...upset with me?"

Kurt bites his lip. "Blaine, I—I don't think we should talk like this at school, even after hours."

"You are. You are upset. Oh, god. I am so, so sorry."

"I'm not—I'm not upset with _you_." He swallows thickly. "There's just so little time left until graduation."

Blaine hurries to his side and grips his hand tightly. "Don't talk like that. Please don't. Not yet. Not now. Let me—let me come over tonight. Let's not waste any more time, okay?"

Kurt sighs. "I—okay. I just—which college did you pick?"

"Tisch," he replies.

 

*

 

He knows that it's not the best idea to invite Blaine over when he feels like _bending something until it breaks_ , but he also can't stop thinking about just how few days are left between now and graduation and he knows that he'd regret it later if he refused. It's not good to be agitated around a sub, he _knows_ that. But Blaine is—Blaine is so good to him, good _for_ him, helps him find himself every time he gets lost, so maybe, maybe it will be okay.

Kurt comes back from the kitchen with drinks for them to find Blaine stripped down to his underwear and kneeling on the center of the bed. He almost drops the soda cans on the floor.

Blaine has his hands twisted up in a plaintive knot in front of him, and his eyes are fucking _sparkling_. Earnestness comes off of him in waves, as he sits up on high his knees and tilts his head.

Kurt says, breathlessly, "You can talk."

"Would you—would you hurt me, if I asked you to?"

Kurt can't breathe for a moment, and when he gets the ability back his voice is high-pitched and threadbare. "How would you like to be hurt, Blaine? I need specifics."

Blaine's face shutters closed for a moment; it's against any sub's nature to talk about their own desires as a first resort, and it always requires effort no matter how often they do it. "Would you tie me to the bed?" His gaze ticks sideways, and Kurt sees that he's been into the toy drawer and come back with nylon rope and a paddle.

_Oh fuck._

Kurt can't ask why. He can't risk upsetting Blaine when he's being so honest, so open. He can only trust that Blaine is doing this because he wants to, that he's doing it for _himself_ , that his reasons are good ones.

"God, yes. Yes. Of course I will." He can't stop staring at Blaine's erection; he'd only been left alone for a minute or two, how long has he been _like_ this? The thought that he's been thinking about it all day drives Kurt _insane_.

Kurt shrugs off his shirt and pants but leaves his underthings on. He kneels at the end of the bed and runs a hand over the instruments that Blaine had chosen. He knows that Blaine has no experience, has probably never even done this. He is also equally sure that Blaine has a reason for asking him to do it, that he'd chosen these items because he understands their purposes and _wants_ them to be used.

Part of him wants to kiss Blaine, to touch him, to reassure him. But there are moments when gentleness comes over empty-handed, and only serves to extend the uncomfortable anxiety that a sub can carry with them into every sexual experience. This is one of those moments. 

Blaine is already aroused and knows what he wants. He needs to feel _more_ , not be coddled.

"Lie down on your stomach," Kurt says, voice rough.

Blaine does as he is told. Kurt tries not to tremble as he ties Blaine's wrists to the headboard. (At one point he'd actually had a bed with carefully whittled places for hooks and ropes but there seemed to be no point to keeping it after he'd failed miserably again and again at relationships.) He takes his time with the knots and the placement of the rope, not wanting to cause any circulation problems. Nylon is slippery, though, and the knots won't last as long, but it's smooth and comfortable and perfect for this kind of every day use. He's steadier by the time he ties off Blaine's ankles, and when he reaches for the paddle all he is is _excited_. 

Blaine had asked for this; Blaine _trusts_ him. It's a heady feeling.

He retrieves a bottle of aloe vera lotion and sets it out of sight but close enough to reach for when they're done.

He's left enough give on the ankle ropes for what he wants. He rubs one hand slowly down Blaine's back. The smooth skin _ripples_ under his touch, and Blaine's back arches like a cat's into his hand.

"Come up on your knees, honey." He wants that ass, that _beautiful_ fucking ass to feel it, and for that his hips need to be bent and the skin drawn tight. And Blaine does this so gracefully, his pretty feet and calves and thighs flexing as he brings his knees up underneath him, his shoulders and face still flat on the bed, ass in the air. The rope tightens perfectly.

Kurt wets his suddenly dry mouth and kneels behind Blaine. He starts off slow, massaging his fingers up and down Blaine's back and hips and buttocks. He bends over Blaine's body, kissing the small of his back and licking a path down to his underwear. He hooks his fingers around the waistband and pulls them down to Blaine's knees, exposing his cheeks and his cock and balls.

God, he is _stunning_.

"I'm going to ask you as questions as I go along, what works and what doesn't, okay? If you don't answer at all I will stop. If you feel that you _can't_ answer verbally tap the bed twice."

"Yes, Kurt."

It's just soft slaps at first, little more than swats with his hand. He knows what tint to look for on the skin to let him know that he can go harder, that he can pick up the rhythm. Blaine is quiet in the beginning, only inhaling deeply with every slap. Kurt tries cupping his hand, then flattening it. Each time he asks which Blaine prefers, and then switches it up to include more of that choice. Once he knows what Blaine likes, he asks fewer questions. He falls into a daze watching his hand swing back and land, watching Blaine's skin jiggle and his muscles _clench_ and those gorgeous marks paint his skin. He only wishes he could see Blaine's face.

At some point Kurt earns a moan and he huffs out a breath, harsh and aroused at the sight of Blaine tugging at the restraints to get closer to the stroke of his hand. "Do you still want the paddle?" he asks, needing to be sure.

"I like the," Blaine gasps, shoulders bunched and sweaty, and it takes him a moment to add, "the way your hand feels but, I need—more, is that...?"

Kurt lifts the paddle and gives it a cursory glance and a bend to make sure there's nothing wrong with it (it's been a while), and then, satisfied, he smooths the wood over Blaine's left cheek. 

Blaine _whimpers_.

Kurt tap tap taps the wood against Blaine's skin.

"Please," Blaine gasps when Kurt doesn't do more. His wrists flex in their bindings.

Kurt doesn't react. He takes his time, clears his mind, gets his breathing under control, and when he is in full control of himself he brings the paddle down, hard and sharp and sudden; Blaine's sob cracking the air is the most beautiful noise he's ever heard.

He doesn't paddle Blaine for long; he doesn't know his boundaries well enough to push them, but Blaine does seem to be getting close to the edge of discomfort, so Kurt stops, staring, enthralled, at Blaine's red cheeks, spreading and _trembling_ and blazing hot under his fingers. "How was that, Blaine?"

"I could've—gone a little longer, I think, but it was good, I like—I like the ones that make it hurt deeper. Feels like I'm...throbbing."

Noted. Kurt smiles, sliding his thumbs along Blaine's cheeks. "Do you want something to soothe the sting?"

"Um, maybe later?"

"Do you want me to untie you?"

"Y-yes, please."

He does so, carefully and quickly, and Blaine rubs at his wrists as he sits up, then slumps back onto the bed. He closes his eyes and takes a few long breaths and Kurt just _watches_ him. "You were wonderful," he says. 

He's never seen Blaine entirely naked before. He takes his time looking, tongue against his bottom lip; Blaine is so _tight_ , wiry in some places and muscled in others, just hairy enough for Kurt's taste; his skin is vibrant and his hair is mused and his eyes are shining; he looks so content. He is also hard as a rock. He lies very still, not even moving, underwear tangled around his thighs. 

Kurt slides onto his hands and knees and crawls across the bed, straddling Blaine's body.

Blaine begins panting as soon as they touch, and Kurt swallows one of those exhalations down as he leans over and kisses Blaine without actually lying down against him. 

"Hands on the bed," he says, softly, and Blaine's arms twitch down. He buries his face against Blaine's neck, then licks his way down Blaine's throat. 

God, the way he tastes and smells; sharp, salty, sweaty, so fucking _masculine_ that it makes Kurt's body throb with wanting him. Kurt breathes hot and heavy along Blaine's skin as he kisses down Blaine's body, stopping to bite at his nipples before sliding neatly down the hollow between his ribs.

Every time they are close Kurt will remember at odd moments that _no one_ has touched Blaine like this before. No one has licked his skin or placed his limbs just so, no one has breathed in the way he smells when he's aroused, no one has pushed his legs apart to slide between them, no one has _licked a stripe_ down the shaft of his cock just like this—

Blaine twists. " _Kurt_."

"Give me a color."

"Green _green_ —"

He _shakes_ as Blane's hips twitch up, as he curls his fist up that hard cock and _twists_ the head, just a little.

"Kurt I can't I can't please—"

He breathes over the head of Blaine's cock, kisses it, and then _sucks_ the head hard and fast into his mouth. 

"Please!"

"How long have you been hard today?"

"Hours," Blaine sobs. "Hours and hours."

"How many strokes can you give me, Blaine? Give me a number and we'll try."

" _Oh please_."

"Number?"

" _Five_!"

Kurt bobs low, swallowing Blaine's cock to the root. He can feel Blaine's entire body _jerk_ in unconscious rebellion. "Count for me."

"One—" Another. "T-two." Another "Three! _Ohgod_." Another. " _Four_." Kurt stops, and replaces his mouth with his hand. "Five _please_ I need—" His thighs and belly are literally _shaking_ from clamping down on his muscles.

"Good boy. So good. So good, I'm going to swallow it all down, Blaine—let it go—" Blaine sobs and twists his fingers into the bed and and Kurt scrapes his teeth _just a little_ over the head of Blaine's cock and Blaine comes, thrusting deep into his mouth. Kurt swallows several mouthfuls, shivering; his cock is _aching_ against the mattress, and Blaine is wrecked on the bed under him, loose and sweet and shaking. He closes his eyes and rests his cheek on Blaine's hip.

He doesn't even realize that they've fallen asleep until Blaine kisses him awake. He slides onto one elbow, squinting into the dimness of the bedroom. Blaine is still naked, only now he's under the covers.

Kurt fumbles for the lotion bottle, long forgotten, and joins him. "I'm sorry. Here, turn over."

Blaine does, and Kurt is hard-pressed to remember his purpose when that naked stretch of skin reveals itself to him. Blaine's ass is still bright red, and if Kurt looks hard enough he can still make out individual marks. Shivering, he spreads the lotion in slow, even circles everywhere that he'd spanked, and Blaine groans and _melts_ into him. Blaine's dry skin eats up the lotion hungrily.

"I don't know which part I like better," he moans. "This or the spanking."

"Lucky for you they go hand in hand," Kurt replies, then scoots up behind Blaine and holds him from behind.

"I want every night to be like this," Blaine says, wrapping his arms around Kurt's.

And how could Kurt ever refuse him?

 

*

 

One of his tenors patches over the weekend, and their Monday dress rehearsal is a disaster. 

The boy has been dating Kurt’s lead soprano, who is a most likely a sub, and now the boy himself has come out a sub, and the fight they have in the middle of the opening number is _epic_. Apparently, one of the alto girls, most likely a dom and the lead soprano’s best friend, has been moving in on the boy for months. 

It blows up spectacularly. Kurt is worried that earrings are going to come off. They all three of them threaten to quit. Someone brings out the show choir rulebook and Kurt _loses it_.

“Everyone _sit down_ right now,” he barks. “I don’t want to hear another _word_.”

“Mr. H is right, guys. We’re so close. We’ve worked hard on this. Let’s keep it together,” Blaine says.

Sometimes he is so grateful for Blaine’s maturity that he could vomit.

“It’s easy for you, Blaine,” one of the girls says. “You’re labeled already. The rest of us have to deal with this constant _shitstorm_ until it happens.”

“Do you think I’ve had it easy?” Blaine asks, eyes glazing over. Kurt itches to comfort him, but can’t.

“Jenna, language. And enough,” Kurt says, putting a hand up. “I want to see you all again this time tomorrow, and we’re going to _do this_. Work it out. Understood?”

After the auditorium stage is cleared, Kurt heads backstage to turn off the lights. He’s almost finished when Blaine comes up behind him. “Finally got rid of Katie, geez,” he says, and Kurt turns and Blaine is in his arms, warm and sudden. “You are a dirty rotten cheater.” He wraps his arms around Kurt’s neck and kisses him, licking at his mouth for entrance.

“ _Blaine_.” Kurt looks around nervously.

“You expect to growl commands at me all day and then not be pounced at the first available opportunity?” Blaine asks, smirking. He surges up on his toes and kisses Kurt again, and—after a frustrating day of hormonal, dramatic teenagers, and watching Blaine dance in those fitted dress pants—Kurt can’t bring himself to say no.

He drags Blaine backstage and pushes him against a props table. “Fuck, come here,” he snarls, kissing Blaine wet and dirty, nudging him to sit on the table. He spreads Blaine’s thighs, gripping them by the back of the knee and _pulling_ their bodies together. Blaine whimpers, fisting a hand in Kurt’s hair. 

Blaine tugs a few of his shirt buttons undone and licks at the skin that’s revealed. 

“No,” Kurt gasps. “Not here. We can’t take anything off, not—”

“Let me touch you, please,” Blaine breathes hot and heavy across Kurt’s mouth. “Let me get you off. I can’t stop thinking about your cock.”

Kurt sucks Blaine’s tongue, hard. “What do you think about?”

“Sucking it,” he answers, immediately. “Please, may I? I’ll be fast; I’ll be so good for you, Kurt, I just want you in my _mouth_.”

Blaine just keeps on finding his dom buttons and pushing them relentlessly. “How would you like…” Blaine slides off the table and onto his knees, heedless of the hard floor. He presses his face into Kurt’s crotch and inhales. “Blaine!”

Blaine makes a strangled, high-pitched _wanting_ noise into Kurt’s pants, and then scrambles with the button and zipper. He pushes the fly open, pushes Kurt’s underwear down just enough so that his cock can slide free. He presses his parted lips up and down the shaft, moaning into Kurt’s skin. It’s the first time this has happened and he looks a little crazed. “God, the way you _taste_ ,” he moans.

Kurt lets him lick and explore, but eventually Kurt’s personality gets the best of him and he twists Blaine’s hair between his fingers and holds him still, guiding the head of his cock against those plush, pink lips. “Cover your teeth,” he says, breathing heavily. “Open.” He can’t concentrate with those huge, clear brown eyes and that fucking _mouth_ trembling, waiting for him. He slides his cock over Blaine’s tongue slowly, then pushes deep into his mouth. “Breathe through your nose. Relax. Yes—just like that.” He doesn't stop until he’s almost touching the back of Blaine’s throat.

Blaine makes a noise. He pulls out, lets Blaine breathe, then does it again. It’s more of a way for him to slow down than anything else; he doesn’t want Blaine to know how _close_ he already is.

“Okay; go ahead,” he says, and lets Blaine move again. He seems comfortable now after the guidance, and his mouth is wet and hot, sucking and _licking_. He knows how to breathe around it now, and it’s too fucking much. Kurt just watches his head bob; he can’t stop making noises, and he’s drooling and there’s _snot_ on his upper lip and it’s the sexiest thing that Kurt has ever seen. Kurt stops him with a tug to his hair. “Open,” he pants, fisting himself. “I want to come in your mouth but I want to _see_ it.” 

Blaine is shaking, pliant and patient and god, his _tongue_. Kurt can’t wait any longer; he jerks himself fast and hard, tipping the head just against Blaine’s lower lip and shooting with a cry, spurts of white splattering over Blaine’s tongue and teeth and top lip. He stays so still, so perfect, even as his throat works around jagged moans. Kurt pushes the come that goes astray into Blaine’s mouth with the head of his cock, shivering when Blaine doesn’t move, doesn’t _do anything_. He waits and then says, “You can swallow.”

Blaine closes his eyes and mouth and does so, throat working. He gasps after, and there is spit stretched between his lips. He lays his cheek on Kurt’s hip. “Thank you.”

“This floor is awful; come on, up.” He helps Blaine stand, then cups his cheek and kisses him. “Can you do something for me?”

“Anything,” Blaine breathes.

“Don’t touch yourself.” He runs two fingers down the shape of Blaine’s erection. “I want this for myself, okay?” He knows that asking Blaine to wait indefinitely isn’t exactly fair, but he can’t resist.

“I—I won’t.”

 

*

 

The thing is that he can’t stop thinking about it, which is a first. He usually prefers it the other way around but ever since he’s become intimately acquainted with Blaine’s cock he’s _wanted_ it in him so badly that it makes his body ache. He wants the reverse, too, of course, he wants to make Blaine _fall apart_ but they haven’t quite gotten there, really, and he can’t just throw Blaine down and spread him and lick him open and fuck him until he screams, he needs and _wants_ to take his time, but he’s so—fucking wrecked about Blaine that it can be a challenge and it _has_ to be right when it happens, it has to.

So he thinks about the reverse because it’s easier to contemplate, because Blaine makes him _insane_ with wanting, because Blaine has a beautiful, thick cock and Kurt wants to _feel_ it.

Is Blaine ready for that?

He takes a long shower when he gets home, then selects a high grade lubricant and his favorite dildo. It’s not porn star material; just his favorite tapered, thick shape, on the smaller side in terms of length, easily held and easily kept inside. 

He warms up by touching himself for a while. Then the lubricant, and two fingers, twisting and pushing until he can spread his hole without discomfort, and only then does he nudge the tip of the dildo inside of himself. It’s uncomfortable, but it feels _necessary_ , and then he relaxes and his body gives and he pushes past that second ring of muscle, then back out and up and _in_ to press against his prostate. 

He gasps, and spreads his legs, and—

His phone rings on the nightstand.

It’s Blaine. He answers.

“Hey,” Blaine says. “Um. Can we talk? I’m—getting distracted.”

Kurt exhales. “Hard?”

“A little. It was worse earlier.”

“You have either the worst or the best timing ever,” Kurt replies.

“…are you...?”

“Mmm, maybe.”

“God, Kurt.”

“I can’t—put the brakes on, do you have any idea how fucking _sexy_ you are, Blaine?”

“Cheating. _Cheating_.”

But he just _can’t_. 

“Would you fuck me if I asked you to?” he gasps. He twists the dildo, working it in short and quick stabs against his prostate. It takes a while to come from milking, and it’s a very different kind of orgasm, but it’s better when you are in the particular mood for it. “Would you like that?”

“Jesus. Jesus Christ.”

“Wanna _ride_ you, Blaine. Ride your hard cock.” He strokes faster, pumps the dildo faster, gasping, head back and body _throbbing_. He’s so close; he watches his cock pulse and twitch at the head. “Want you to _come in me_.” Blaine is hyperventilating into the phone, but Kurt can’t stop. The slit at the head of his cock _gapes_ and a thin jerky stream of semen splashes over the head and down the shaft, gush after gush.

“Oh my god, _Kurt_.”

“I know it hurts,” Kurt says, softly, panting. He’s _spent_. “But you can do it, honey.” 

This goes on for three days. 

They run out of opportunities to see each other after school, and they won’t have the weekend because of Nationals, so Kurt drags Blaine into his office after school on the third day, shuts off every light, locks every door—

And Blaine literally _throws him_ against a wall and kisses him so hard that a tooth breaks skin and there’s blood between their mouths. Kurt growls and rips Blaine’s shirt off, tears his pants open. There is _nothing_ planned about this and he can’t bring himself to care; he just needs Blaine, he’s needed him _all week_.

“Sit in my chair,” Kurt says.

Blaine does, and Kurt scrambles out of his pants and underwear. He grabs lubricant and condoms from his desk drawer (placed there so long ago when they’d started this insanity), rips the condom open, and rolls it down over Blaine’s erection, jutting out of his open fly. He applies the lube quickly, a smear on himself and a smear on Blaine, and straddles Blaine’s lap in the chair, letting his feet touch the floor on either side.

“We should—god, Blaine, we should’ve gone home, we should’ve gone _anywhere_ else.”

Blaine gasps as Kurt settles in his lap. “Can’t wait.” He squeezes Kurt’s ass, spreading his cheeks. “Need you. Please?”

Kurt kisses him, licking into his mouth. “Shut up and fuck me,” he whispers, rough and affectionate.

Blaine laughs—hysterically, gasping—as Kurt _spreads_ and sits down, and Blaine cock just _slides_ inside of him. It hurts because they haven’t taken the time, but Kurt wants that, wants to feel it upfront because he knows that Blaine isn’t going to last very long. He sets his feet and _rolls_ forward, the muscles in his back and hips coiling and uncoiling as he fucks down into Blaine’s lap. Blaine shouts into his neck, burying his face there. “Oh fuck oh fuck, Kurt—”

Kurt throws his head back and thrusts, back to front back to front, and it feels _so fucking good_ , finally, full of that thick cock. “Just—a little bit, okay? See how long you can—stay with me, okay?” The angle makes it almost impossible for Blaine to _do_ anything, and Kurt kind of likes that; he changes direction and speed when he wants to, and Blaine bites and kisses at his skin where he can, and Blaine’s hands keep dipping down to stroke his ass and back, and sometimes his fingers push against where his cock is buried inside Kurt, and that just—

“ _Blaine_ , fuck.”

“Can I touch you? Can you…come like this?”

“Yes, yes, god yes.”

“Could we do that now I—I don’t know much longer I can—you’re so _tight_.”

“Yes, yes, baby, go ahead.”

Blaine’s fist closes around him, and he shifts to accommodate (no hope of involving the prostate at the moment but it doesn’t matter), _rocking_ , into Blaine’s hand, back down onto Blaine’s cock, over and over. Blaine sucks at his throat, and then kisses him, biting at his bottom lip.

“There, there, there, oh _god_ ohfuck.” Kurt falls apart, messing the space between them with jolt after jolt of come, ass clenching _tight_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Blaine hisses, and fills the condom, gasping, a thrust with each word, “Worth. Every. Minute.” 

 

*

 

The senior solo spots for Nationals were voted on by the choir (with Kurt as the final say, of course, but he stayed well away from the voting). Blaine, naturally, had been a shoe-in, and no one was surprised when he'd been chosen, along with another of Kurt's female students to take the two songs that aren't full ensembles. Blaine's been working on it since, and Kurt is really excited about it. He'd left the choreography and song choice up to him and he can't wait to see the judges' reaction.

Right before they leave for the airport, his dad calls him and wishes him good luck. He and Blaine are alone in the car, and he blushes a little when Burt says, "Are you with Blaine?"

"Yes," he replies.

"That's good, kid. I'm happy for you. Give him my love, okay?"

He hangs up, grinning like an idiot. "My dad said to give you his love."

Blaine smiles so brightly that it _hurts_. "Your dad is awesome."

The traveling is nerve-wracking. Herding teenagers is about ten times worse than herding cats. They'd managed to put aside or stamp out most of the personal issues, but that does nothing to help with luggage getting lost, costumes damaged, paperwork misfiled, and all of the other dozens of problems that arise during this sort of competition.

Emma is his second chaperone and she is an amazingly dab hand at organizing. She gets the kids settled in their hotel rooms while he sorts out the mess downstairs.

He makes sure to order in dinner for the kids to discourage them from wandering, but he knows they're likely to get up to mischief anyway; he trusts them to be sensible enough to be ready tomorrow, though, so he lets it go.

"New York is so exciting, don't you think?" Emma gushes. They're having a well-needed drink in the hotel bar.

"Oh, god yeah. I used to think sometimes that I'd end up here."

She stares at him. "You still could, Kurt; god, you're practically a _baby_."

He smiles. "The kids, though—I dunno, when I was in high school I wanted to perform more than _anything_ but I think I like teaching more. There's just something so empowering about it." He chuckles. "I guess that makes sense, huh?"

"You never know," she says, and clinks their glasses together.

In the morning he finds out that a couple of the kids had gone out drinking. Because, of course, that's what he wants to deal with at the crack of dawn. But aside from that, one loud argument, and one of the girls trying to bunk with the boys, everything seems okay. 

Walking down the hall to the lobby Blaine falls into step beside him. "If I had to listen to one more conversation about boobs or smell one more intentional fart, I swear to god—-"

Kurt laughs. "You're an old soul, Blaine. It's the cross you bear."

They aren't alone, so they can't do what they'd like to, but Blaine brushes their arms together. "Ready?"

Kurt lowers his voice and catches Blaine's eye. "Break a leg, honey."

Blaine has back-up for his number, and Kurt knows that he loves it; it's such a pleasure to watch him shine doing something that he is genuinely, unabashedly talented at.

He has the second solo. The lights come up and the music comes on, and it's—

Not the number they'd rehearsed. Kurt immediately goes rigid with terror in his seat. They've fucked up the music, and his kids are going to look like _idiots_ and he is going to _rip someone's face off_.

But then Blaine starts singing, and the group starts moving, and if becomes obvious that they have just made a change that Kurt was never told about. At first he's furious, and then he recognizes the song.

_I walked across an empty land_  
 _I knew the pathway like the back of my hand_  
 _I felt the earth beneath my feet_  
 _Sat by the river and it made me complete_

_Oh simple thing, where have you gone?_  
 _I'm getting old and I need something to rely on_  
 _So tell me when you're gonna let me in_  
 _I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin_

_I came across a fallen tree_  
 _I felt the branches of it looking at me_  
 _Is this the place we used to love?_  
 _Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?_

_Oh simple thing, where have you gone?_  
 _I'm getting old and I need something to rely on_  
 _So tell me when you're gonna let me in_  
 _I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin_

_And if you have a minute, why don't we go_  
 _Talk about it somewhere only we know?_  
 _This could be the end of everything_  
 _So why don't we go somewhere only we know?_  
 _Somewhere only we know_

_Oh simple thing, where have you gone?_  
 _I'm getting old and I need something to rely on_  
 _So tell me when you're gonna let me in_  
 _I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin_

_And if you have a minute, why don't we go_  
 _Talk about it somewhere only we know?_  
 _This could be the end of everything_  
 _So why don't we go? So why don't we go?_

_Oh, this could be the end of everything_  
 _So why don't we go somewhere only we know?_  
 _Somewhere only we know_  
 _Somewhere only we know_

There is no outward indication that Blaine is singing to him, but on the very last line Blaine has his arm out to the audience and he's looking right at Kurt. The boys are spread behind him and the lights are sharp and bright and he's sweating, and Kurt actually has to hold his breath or he will do something remarkably stupid.

The audience eats it up, never knowing.

 

*

 

They win.

They fucking _win_ and for about thirty seconds the noise is so deafening that Kurt can't feel or hear _anything_.

In the confusion, Blaine throws himself into Kurt's arms. They cling to each other, hugging hard and frantic. No one notices, but Kurt hurries to hug everyone else after that.

They go out to dinner to celebrate, and after he's made sure that the kids are in their rooms he has a quick chat with Emma and then goes back to his own room.

He's just about to go to sleep when he hears a knock on his door.

Blaine is standing outside his room wearing pajamas and a smile.

"Hi," he says, _glowing_.

"I love you," Kurt replies; it's the first thing that pops into his head and he doesn't regret it for a second.

"I love you, too," Blaine replies, and his eyes fill up with tears.

Kurt drags him inside, closes the door, then wraps his arms around him. "It was beautiful."

"I couldn't go out on that stage without singing to you. I'm sorry if it was a shock."

Kurt smiles, cupping his face. "It was _beautiful_. You don't need to apologize." He smirks. "Of course, if we'd lost..."

Blaine laughs against his neck, and he's shaking a little. He seems so small and fragile against Kurt's taller frame. "Can I stay with you?"

He shouldn't. They shouldn't. But graduation is a week away and nothing seems to matter any more but that they spend every minute possible together.

"Yes," Kurt says, leaning down and wrapping his arms around the back of Blaine's knees, lifting him. Blaine's legs go around his waist and arms around his neck. "Yes." Kurt carries him to bed, kissing him. "Always yes."

 

*

 

Blaine is unstable from the moment they begin; he's crying and trembling, but the tears are happy and the trembling is just trembling and it's all beautiful to Kurt. They kiss, and caress, and forget the time entirely.

"Just make love to me," Blaine asks, voice thick. "Just keep your hands on me. Okay? Want to give you _everything_."

Kurt feels a little drunk, though he'd only had a few drinks at dinner. He strips Blaine of his soft, worn pajamas, and lays him out gently on the bed. There is no call for props or dom gestures tonight; this is just them, stripped of their worldly markings and so in love with each other that they can't see past each other's silhouettes.

Kurt kisses him, everywhere. He licks and suckles at every inch of skin, every hidden spot that he has never found the time to discover; the hollows around Blaine's neck and ears, his small nipples, the spot where his belly turns into pelvis. The soft places behind his knees, the silky skin of his balls. Blaine _cries_ , and gasps with laughter, and whispers his name like a prayer.

For a long while, he finds his way into subpace, and Kurt _floats_ , he is so pleased.

When Blaine comes out of it, Kurt is mouthing at his jaw, thumbs stroking circles across his hips. "Welcome back."

"That was—"

"Give me a color?"

"Yellow."

Kurt nods, and continues lying there, using just the fingertips of his left hand to stroke patterns across Blaine's skin. He's perfectly content to wait.

Blaine says, softly, "Green," and turns his face into Kurt's and they kiss, long and sweet. The space between their mouths is hot and humid and small. “Inside me now, okay? Want to feel you there.”

Kurt _shivers_ , and rolls on top of Blaine. He wants it this way, Blaine underneath him, Blaine's beautiful face there for him to see. He wants Blaine's legs up and around him. He wants so much.

Blaine doesn't want to come first, so Kurt takes his time with the lubricant and his fingers. At the first tease of that, Blaine inhales and tenses up and starts _babbling_. He is unbearably tight, but after a lot of kissing and grinding he starts to relax, and Kurt is able to move two fingers within him freely. The prostate touches confuse him, so Kurt doesn't take that too far, instead just smoothly and deeply spears inside, willing the stretch along.

"Please," Blaine whimpers. "Please can we—Kurt, _need_ you. Need you so much."

Kurt shifts Blaine's legs over his shoulders—being small, it's easy to bend him at the waist and hover over him—and sits up on his knees, sliding on a condom and stroking himself a couple of times.

"Don't touch my—I just want to feel you first, okay?"

"Okay, honey. Just breathe with me." He slides a pillow under Blaine's hips. He reaches between them, finding Blaine's hole slick and gaping. He swallows a groan and lines their bodies up, using the leverage of Blaine's legs draped over him to _push_ against.

 _Sweet fucking Christ_ he is tight. 

No one has ever done this to him, no one has ever _been inside of him, you are his first_.

"Oh my god—Kurt—"

"Press. Press back into me, god you are beautiful, so fucking beautiful, Blaine." It hurts. He knows that it does.

"Don't stop," Blaine moans, eyes wide and staring into his.

Kurt sits, bottomed out, for a long moment, then adds more lubricant and pulls out. Blaine sobs. Pushes back in, hearing the low squelch of slickness and the sucking pull of Blaine's body clinging to him.

"Fuck," Kurt groans. He runs his hands up and down Blaine's legs, kissing a knee as he begins slowly fucking into him.

"Yesyes in me stay in me please."

" _Blaine_ , god." He starts to lose control of the rhythm; it's so hard to go slow when Blaine's hips have started to _roll_ , when Blaine's hands are digging marks into his hips.

"Love you," Blaine sputters, as Kurt gives in and fucks him faster. "Love you so much don't want anyone else Kurt just you just you okay—"

"Yes, yes, Blaine." Kurt gasps, hips working, chest _flooded_ with a love so sharp that it takes his breath away. "Do you want to come now, baby?" Blaine's legs are around his waist, now, feet digging into Kurt's ass.

"Not until you do," Blaine gasps.

And that's all it takes; Kurt sobs, turns his face into Blaine's thigh that is draped over his shoulder, thrusting hard and fast—it only takes about thirty seconds, the bed shaking and Blaine _whining_ , back arched, _harderharderfaster_ so close and Kurt comes, hips snapping. 

Blaine says hurriedly, "Stay in me please I want to come like that, okay?" He takes himself in hand and _rides_ Kurt's half-soft cock, pulling at himself and finally coming, _spasming_ around Kurt as he spills over his fist.

Kurt tosses the condom and then cleans the worst of the mess with tissues before lying down on top of Blaine, who wraps him up in his arms and legs.

"Bond with me," Kurt whispers between kisses against Blaine's ear. "Bond with me before you go off to school. I don't want to hold you back but I want that, Blaine, I want you as _my_ sub, I don't want anyone else to ever have the right to touch that side of you—" It's not marriage, but it's something on paper, something to keep them together, to give them a _chance_. It would give them rights to each other, and it would protect Blaine, and it would make it all _right_ , they wouldn't have to hide anymore. “Please, will you?”

Blaine smiles, fingers trembling against his cheek. "Yes. _God_ , yes."

 

*

Bonding, like orientation labeling, is relatively new. It's a civil contract between a dom and sub that outlines their commitment to each other's labels, and puts boundaries on the relationship if so desired. It's somewhat like a mutual guardianship. It gives them legal rights to each other's care and well-being; essentially, it makes them partners in the eyes of the law, but it's not marriage. Kurt doesn't want to put that sort of weight on Blaine at eighteen; it wouldn't be fair.

Kurt's witness is his dad. Blaine's witness is his older brother Cooper (who Kurt has only met once before) who was so thrilled by the fact that Blaine had found a dom that he'd flown all the way from California to sign the papers. Being eighteen, Blaine doesn't need his parents' permission, and the fact that Kurt is Blaine's teacher for another week has no bearing on it, either.

They all go out to dinner after. Burt is _thrilled_ to meet Cooper, and Cooper proceeds to charm the pants off of everyone.

"It's so easy to like him when you don't _know_ him," Blaine sighs.

Kurt grins. "You two love each other. I can see it."

"He's an idiot, but the genetic bond is strong."

 

*

 

"We should get drunk," he tells Emma after he turns in his grades for the year. Graduation is the following day, and all he wants to do is _drink_ and _sleep_ and possibly solicit a blowjob from his sub.

The fact that he can now say that makes him _quiver_ with happiness.

"Why should we do that?"

"We deserve it. This year was just...guh. And I'm losing so many awesome glee kids. It's hard to say goodbye."

Emma watches him, eyes huge and lips pursed. Then she blurts all at once, "Can I show you something?"

"Sure."

"I know that it's been many years since I've been your guidance counselor. But I like to think of it as a lifetime commitment, and—well, an opportunity has come up that I think you might want to take advantage of."

He blinks. "You're not job hunting for me again? I know I had that quarter life crisis about still being here in Lima, but I've come to terms with it. I _love_ my job."

"You love teaching, Kurt. You can _teach_ anywhere."

"And when you say anywhere...?"

She grins. "I mean New York."

"Emma. Emma, come on."

"I got a call from a friend who runs this cozy little dramatic arts school in Brooklyn. She's retiring and they're looking for a replacement director. I sent them some of your work. Your resume." Her smile twists. "The Nationals win didn't hurt your case."

"And my baby photos?"

She blushes. "They're willing to offer you a trial period. Between you and me, it's in the bag, but... Would you consider it?"

"Why now?"

She looks at him, and her mouth kind of wobbles, and then it hits him: she _knows_. "Think about it, okay?"

 

*

 

Graduation is an emotional roller coaster. Kurt cries a little, and hugs a lot, and spends many hours with his students and their families at the ceremony and after. He makes a lot of small talk, but mostly it's just compliments all around. He is _so proud_ of them all, and it really does sting to watch them walk out of the auditorium suddenly no longer _his_.

Blaine's parents are there, and that is the only awkward conversation that Kurt has that day. The truth is, he doesn't want or need to prove to the Andersons that he loves their son. They don't deserve that respect.

"Cooper told us," Blaine's father says. "I can't say I'm thrilled about the idea, but at least he has someone to keep other doms from taking advantage of him."

Kurt's blood _boils_. "He deserves a lot more than that, Mr. Anderson. I intend to give him everything that I have in me."

Blaine's mother, sensing how uncivil things are about to become, leads her husband quietly away.

 

*

 

The hardest part is having to prepare himself to say goodbye almost immediately. Blaine is moving to New York and starting Tisch's summer program the following week. He already has an apartment and a huge moving allowance (he tells Kurt that money is literally the only reason that he doesn't cut ties with his parents), and Kurt gives him no end of shit about how in _his day_ he had to sling _coffee_ to put himself through community college while sitting on a waiting list for something better.

"Old man," Blaine says, poking his still-perfectly-trim-thank-you-very-much abdomen.

Now that Blaine is no longer his student and they are bonded, they don't worry so much about being found out, but neither of them want to cause talk before Blaine goes off to school, so if someone they know sees them together they don't hide it but they don't volunteer details, either.

Others knowing, approving, disapproving—none of it matters to them anymore.

 

*

 

Kurt gets the job offer email the morning that they go to the airport. Blaine is driving. Kurt, in the passenger seat, reads the email over and over. Salary offer (more than he makes as a teacher in Ohio), start date (thirty days from now), temporary lodging (nothing glamorous but still generous of them). When they get to the airport and park the car, he realizes that he can't wait; he has to do this now, while they're alone. Springing it on Blaine in the terminal would only agitate them both.

He doesn't want to phrase this as if he's following Blaine to New York to claim all of his time, dominate his experiences, and live on his couch without a purpose; they'd have separate _everything_ , and if their bonding can survive that, so much the better. And if after that Blaine wants to have more of him in his every day life, if Blaine _keeps wanting him_ it will be amazing. He'll have a job that will make him blissfully happy and the possibility of having Blaine, too, and that's—more than enough.

"Blaine? I've—got something that I want you to read. I need your honest opinion, okay?"

Blaine looks at him sideways, and takes his phone, head bent over the screen. His face is blank at first, and then when he realizes what he's reading his jaw twitches and his mouth opens and his eyes mist over. He actually has to put down the phone and swallow before going back to it and reading all the way to the end.

"Kurt," he breathes, "oh, _Kurt_." His shoulders twitch, and his throat _closes up_ with a silent sob, just once. "Oh."

"I don't want this to be just about _us_. I want you to have your own life in New York. I'll have mine, and—it's always been my dream, Blaine. It's just—now I have another dream, and I want to be nearer to him, too." He takes a deep breath, feeling his face heat up and his fingers go numb and his heart make a bid for freedom through his ribs. "Is this completely freaking you out?"

"I thought—I thought I'd have to _leave you behind_ today, Kurt, I thought—don't you...? I _love you_. I'm—I'd never be happy a thousand miles away from you."

"Thank god. If someone else got to pick the design theme for your new apartment I would have been _furious_."

Blaine laughs, crawls over the center console and into Kurt's lap, and kisses him.

It came a bit later than he expected, and in a form that he could never have predicted, but Kurt can finally say that he's found his happy beginning.


End file.
